


Alcohol Just Ain't Enough

by LazBriar



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Adult Content, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dusk - Freeform, Explicit Language, Flirting, Gay, Gen, Implications of Gay Stuff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Shipping the best ship, Slow Burn, Turn away thine precious virgin eyes, commission, gay sex probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21766165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazBriar/pseuds/LazBriar
Summary: Husk doesn't know what to make of Angel Dust. Angel Dust doesn't know what to make of Husk. They try to sort it out with drinking, gambling, and other things.Commissioned by my lovely reader, Minigma!
Relationships: Angel Dust & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Husk
Comments: 46
Kudos: 461





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I mean this is happening, you know it is.

**Alcohol Just Ain't Enough**

**by Laz Briar**

Was one of them days where booze didn't cut it.

Husk kept to a simple philosophy: at all times, at least be intoxicated with a percentage of alcohol. It numbed his thoughts, blurred the hours, and softened the edges. It worked out _so far._ Well, until he landed his ass smack-dab in the middle of a hotel. Urgh, no hang on, the “Happy Hotel.” Or was it the fuckin’ Hazbin Hotel now? Didn’t know. Didn’t quite process it well. He’d been here already for, uh, a few weeks? Maybe a month? Time he didn’t rightly keep track of, seeing as how it _never ended_ Down Here. That’s where uncle alcohol came.

Now, the Miss and her cohort were less friendly on that sorta’ thing, especially Vaggie. That ol’ banshee was trying to keep things all professional-like, hah, the silly girl. This was it baby, this was the end, wasn’t no goin’ back, trying to play it straight (heh) was a fool’s errand, like raisin’ the flop with a five high. So Husk indulged himself despite the grumblings of one Vaggie, and it kept him goin’ right along.

Normally he wouldn’t. Normally he’d past the time rollin’ fellas in poker or cheatin’ the slots. Really put a smile on him. Oh _that_ was the good shit, yes sir. The “legal” ruination of your opponents through a game of cards? And they _had_ to pay? Even lady liquor couldn’t compare, ahahah! Of course, Husk would make off like a bandit, blow it on booze, then do it all up again next week for a ‘nother bender.

But, see, there was a problem with that. No, not the Hotel (all right, some of the Hotel), but rather _who_ was at the Hotel. Specifically _him_ , specifically Alastor. That goddamned grinning fuck had roped him in to some bullshit shenanigans, _again._ The glue keeping Husk stuck on this place was cheap booze and, well, a lot of cheap booze, enough that Husk could probably piss an ocean of it if he wanted to. But still, it meant he was under the heel of that grinning loon, at his mercy of whatever nonsense he had planned. And normally, Alastor didn’t plan beyond fucking things up, and boy the Hotel looked like it was sitting on a dynamite of “oh shit” and “fuck no.”

At this point, Husk was hogtied to it and was just waiting for the fire and smoke. There were, at least, a few things to keep himself busied beyond a drink or nine. Most of it related to the guests and their dysfunctional bullshit. They had something going on, some problem or another that was worse than a month-old hairball.

And then, of course, there was _this_ guy.

“Eyyyy whiskers, slide me a Manhattan, would ya’?”

The sharp-pitched tone carrying a New Yorkian accent touched Husk’s ears. He pulled his eyes to see the lithe, effeminate frame of one _Angel Dust_ approach, carrying a wicked sneer, gold-tooth and all. Husk grumbled, a strange “hangover” sensation overcoming him.

“Thought you was tryin’ to get clean, legs.”

Angel plopped himself upon barstool, sneer morphing to grin. “Awww, ya’ noticed?” He kicked said leg, showing off exposed thigh and kinky boot.

“Nice lookin’, ain’t dey? Flaaawless.”

Husk snarled. “Ugh, fuck off with that.”

“You’ze said it, not me, Husky-wusky.”

“I’m about to take a Manhattan and shove it up your ass, princess!”

Shit, he knew that was the wrong thing to say. Angel Dust only laughed, twirling, propping his chin on hands, fluttering eyelids. “Oooh, dat’s what I like to hear. Maybe you can sho-”

Husk spat and quickly twirled up Angel’s preferred concoction, eager to break this line of dialogue. He whipped in the whisky (cheap), wine (cheaper), and bitters (fuckin’ cheapest) before sliding into to the four-armed arachnid. Angel snagged up, slugging it back instantly.

He gasped, wiping his mouth. “Aaaaaah, much obliged, whiskers. Though, doll it up next time for me, wouldja? I’mma celebrity, I deserve the good shit!”

Husk grunted. “The hell you talkin’ bout?”

Chuckles. “Ey’, I tasted jizz better’n dis. I know a cheap drink, pal.”

“Be lucky I didn’t spike it with poison, pretty boy.”

Angel only simpered. “Ya’ think I’m preeetty? Oooh, atta’ boy, Husky wusky. We’ll get you sayin’ all sooorts of things soon, heheh.”

He winked, clicking his teeth. Husk about took a swipe before Angel hopped up, strutting off to another section of the Hotel. He threw his hips a little bit before offering an exaggerated wave to Husk. “Byyyyye.”

That fuckin’ guy. The “guy” part was already confusing enough – the spider could pass as a lass if you weren’t looking hard enough. In fact, the only reason one assumed otherwise is _because_ they already knew him. His reputation was widespread, to put it mildly. Every fucking dick and john knew Angel Dust, to every far corner of Pentagram City. Trouble, nothin’ but trouble, those types. Addled on drugs and booze to hide the pain, bury what they were, hoppin’ on a new dick by dawn for, what? Attention? Bah! Buncha’ daddy issues walkin’, that one. Trouble, trouble, trouble. A headache for the Miss.

. . .and yet here he was.

Husk wondered what the hell Angel’s game was. Why was he here, at the Hotel? Seriously? For redemption? Naw, couldn’t be, no fuckin’ way. Who’d believe in something so naïve and kid-friendly? This was Hell, ain’t no getting out, it’s how the chips fell. Game over. Hopeless, so hopeless, and the only think ya’ could do was drink your days away to dull the misery. Or, make some fuck on the other end _more_ miserable.

And yet. _Here he was._

All that shit, all those problems, still tryin’ to find his way. Pftah. Why, because he thought he was gonna’ get better? Idiot! There was no way out, no escape!

. . .was there?

Husk grumbled and yanked out his stash of cheap booze, some of that Reserve, swigging it down. _Hmph._ Redemption, getting better, what a joke, right?

He stared at the bottle of brown glass, considering another gulp. Then, glanced in the spider’s direction, or where he’d gone off to, at least.

He set the bottle down. Goddammit.

-*-

“Hah, I win again!”

Angel Dust’s features yanked with an aggravated frown, staring at his hands and the flop. Wha? Fucking again!?

“How!?” he bellowed, raising his four arms, a scatter of cards fluttering through the air. Niffty chittered with giggles, pulling over the ‘pot’ of copper tokens.

“You’ve got that womanly tell!” piped up NIffty, biting one of the coins, her single eye rolling over it to check for filth and dust. “It’s easy to see when you’ve got a good or bad hand, ehehehehehe!”

Angel scowled, his face flushing as he stared at the flop and his cards. It was a perfect set too! Three of a kind! Fuck!

“FUUUUUUUCK!” he screamed, slamming the table. “Ya’ stupid little cheatin’ twip!”

Niffty buzzed in the air, laughing. “I don’t cheat! I’m just _better.”_

This did little to settle the spider’s wrath, who nearly tossed the table upside down. Instead, remembering that he was trying to be “better,” he crumped into his seat, limbs crossing, pouting.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, looking away. The maid, in the meantime, was happy to collect her earnings. “Good Tokens,” Charlie had affectionately named them, a little currency for things around the Hotel. And, if you had enough, you could even use some of it for going _outside._ Charlie figured that if you collected enough you were showing progress and could be trusted to go on your own.

But now? That damn bug! That dumb little mite! She’d taken all his week’s gains! Now he was left without anything! He couldn’t go anywhere or get a plug or, bah! She ruined it! Stupid maid!

Niffty sped off, keeping her pot earnings in dress pocket, wearing a manic smile. Angel, though, wasn’t just beaten. He was upset.

“Fuck,” he said again, staring at the floor. He sniffed, wiping his eye. Goddammit. He was looking forward to getting out of this shitshack for a while. After the events at the television station, Charile had gotten a bit harsher about who she let do what, and considering the spider’s “performance,” she wasn’t eager to let him relapse into old habits.

Not like he was gonna’! He wasn’t some stupid spoiled kid! He just needed to fucking breathe! Hell, he hadn’t even seen his bestie for a while! And now he couldn’t! Now was stuck in this confining Hotel for probably another week! No dick, no drugs, just. . . blah!

He held himself. What was he gonna’ do? He didn’t have any hobbies. He figured he’d fuck everybody up at poker, but it was _clearly_ not his game. So now what? Think? He hated thinking. Thinking just reminded him, of, well, _him._ And stuff. All that old stuff.

He wiped his mismatched eyes. Fucking shitty fuckshit, he was gonna’ make his eyeliner run. This was stupid. Stupid game and stupid Niffty and STUPID.

Holy shit this was so dumb, was he seriously about to cry? Fuck’s sake Angie, get over it. It was just a dumb card game with idiot rules for idiots. Hah. He sniffed. Fuck.

“You might be the worst goddman’ poker player I seen in a while.”

Angel’s gazed snapped to his right, only to see the gruff, agitated figure of Husk. Said figure had a shuffle of cards flicking between his clawed hands, looking at the table with an expression of utter, pure disgust. Well, Angel was in absolutely _no_ mood.

“Fuck you n’fuck off.”

Husk laughed. “Ohohoho, where’d all that clever sass go, princess?”

Now, the spider snarled, his mismatched eyes glinting with a hint of pink rage. “M’warnin’ ya’ whiskers, ya’ fuckin bug me they won’t find what’s left of ya’!”

Husk rolled his eyes. “Worse, you’re a terrible loser. Take it easy, ‘toots,’ I’m just makin’ a casual observation. You suck.”

Angel flashed a knife, sending it careening towards the cat. Husk sidestepped _just_ in time as the glimmer of steel flew past him, nailing into the wall. “Nice aim.”

When he looked back, he could see the spider was past the point of breaking. All right, all right, time to lay off.

“Easy, kiddo. Look, I’d be a real jackfuck if I uh, let this go, ya’ know? I can’t abide by bad poker, it’s just bad luck.”

Angel wiped his face, turning away. “Fuck off,” he repeated. “Go sit onna’ spiked dick.”

“Maybe later,” said Husk, coming to the table, sitting opposite side of the spider. “How ‘bout, instead, we fix this little problem, eh? At least lemme’ get your tells right, god, losing a three of a kind? Worse than gettin’ ambushed by Charlie.”

Angel blinked. “D’fuck ya’ talkin’ bout?”

Husk shook his head, shook off the brief creep of memory. “Nothin. Less talk, more game.”

Here, the spider hesitated, staring at his feline counterpart, the table, and the cards. He didn’t trust the cat. Husker was just a prickly old dude, you couldn’t take him at his word. Could you?

“Not interested,” said Angel, turning away. “I don’t want yer pity.”

Husk laughed. “Pity? Makin’ a lot of assumptions of there, kid. I just have a weak spot for shitty poker playing. And ‘sides, ain’t interested in runnin’ games with the maid. She’s too loud, keeps cleanin’ the deck.”

Husk flipped the deck between paws, a flex of utter mastery of the cards. Or, his desire to cheat. Probably both. Angel glanced towards the shuffle of cards, a twinge of anger spiking through him. He had ever want to up and turn the table over and walk off, throw his hips in mock fashion while flipping the old boozecat off.

But for some ungodly reason, he stayed.

“Will it make ya’ shut up if ya’ get on with it, whiskers?”

Husk finished his shuffle. “Only if you promise to learn something, _freckles.”_

Angel snorted, huffing, before swinging himself back to the table, shoving an elbow on the furniture and resting cheek in palm. “Whatever.”

“Hmph. Good.”

Husk set the deck down and crackled his knuckles. “We’ll skip the blinds and the fancy bettin’. Something tells me you ain’t got shit to bet, anyway.”

“Fuck you.”

Husk ignored him. “Anyway, let’s take this real easy like. Pentagram City Hold Em’, ya know, the version for real dealers, not that fuckin’ Omaha shit.”

Angel’s eyes wandered, disinterested.

“Hey, pay attention!”

Said eyes rolled. “God, fuckin’ fine, jee-zus. Just get on widdit, will ya!?”

Husk didn’t answer, instead set two cards to himself and then to Angel while filling the river with three upturned cards. Nothing ferocious – a Ten, an Eight, and a Jack.

Husk glanced at his own, finding a Five and a Three. Shit hand. He glanced to Angel, who with casual boredom looked at his own, peeling the cards _too_ far of the table. When his eyes darted from river to hand, he scowled.

“Okay _stop!”_ Husk grumbled. “That, that shit right there! The fuck was that! I don’t even have to know you ain’t got nothin’ going on there!”

Angel flinched. “H-huh?”

Husk pointed to his face. “The tell, smart guy, _the tell._ Your expression s’more valuable than a goddamn double Ace on the first draw. This ain’t just about the numbers, this is about jackin’ around the other guy, makin em’ believe you got somethin’. Or not. Tricks, kid, tricks!”

Husk glanced at Angel’s fingers. “And. . . look, not so far off the table, yeah? Exposing too much.”

Another long, aggravated sigh, Angel throw up his arms. “Uggggh, fine, this is stuuuupid!”

Husk raised a palm. “Easy, legs. One hand at a time. We’ll pretend we both called a check yeah. See what the river pulls up. And this time, _don’t talk so much with your face.”_

One more card on the river. Husk hid the vinegar in his throat: a Two. Pretty rancid hand, and there wasn’t much chance for a sweep. If he were a spiteful prick, he’d make a bet here, at least with an easy-going fella’ like Angel. Bully the table a bit. Yet, for some ungodly reason, by Lucifer’s pitchfork, he couldn’t do it. The spider looked half ready to burst into tears and then whip about a quartet of Thompsons and turn the place into swiss cheese. Both were dramatics he wasn’t drunk enough for.

Angel looked down at it too, and Husk watched carefully. The spider blinked, an eyebrow raised. . . but this time, a little less movement. Okay, hey, not bad at all. At least he couldn’t _exactly_ make out what Angel’s hand was. He figured nothing impressive but nothing but – a waiting game. So, if they were bettin’, he-

“So uh, can I fuckin’ raise here or what?”

Huh?

Husk stared. “Raise? You. . .”

“Sure about dat? Yeah, dat’s why I said it. I fuckin’ raise, er whatever.”

Oookay. Well. There was nothing up for grabs, exactly. Husk could call it, raise the non-existent amount, or fold. He was curious.

“Fine, legs. I’ll call.”

Hmm. Annoyance, that’s what Husk felt, flapping his wings. He thought he was getting through to the spider, but looked like he was making rash decisions. Bah.

The final on the river: an Ace. Bah! So Husk was left with an Ace high. Could be worse, could be better – much better. Guess he was in the clear, as Angel grumbled, clicked his tongue, and stomped the ground. Goddammit.

“Jeeze, and I thought you were learnin’,” Husk grunted, a bit disappointed. What with the Ace flop, looks like Angel had no hand at all.

“Fuck off n’stuff it.”

A sigh. “Fiiiine. All in here. Thank goodness we didn’t put up, or else you’d be cleaned out. Gonna’ fold, I reckon.”

Angel sulked a moment, frowning. Then. . . his face game up, and frown morphed to grin.

“Nah. I call dat’ shit.”

Husk tilted his head. “Scuse’ me?”

“Show me whatcha’ got, bitch.”

The hell was Angel getting so cocksure about now? Hmph. He had no awareness, did he? Regardless, Husk tossed in his hand, a Five and a Nine, the flop giving him an Ace high. Angel looked, chuckled, and revealed his.

By the silk inch of his panties. . . a two. Two of a kind.

“Ooooo,” Angel purred. “I won? Heh, gotcha’ bitch.”

Husk gawked. “You sonofabitch. . .”

Angel wiggled his legs with laughter, cackling. “Ahahaha!”

The cat. . . wasn’t angry. “Damn, freckles. Not bad at all. Guess you ain’t such a lost cause.”

O’ course, maybe he felt like letting the spider win. Maybe this time he felt like keeping the cards as they were, not changing the values when he set the river. He could, of course, Angel Dust wasn’t aware of Husk’s abilities. But damn, guy had more cracks than a dinner plate at a Chinese buffet. Adding more just seemed stupid.

“I’mma a fast learner.”

“Hmph. Maybe so.”

Angel kicked himself away from the table, sniffing. His veil of snark quickly returned, a measure of pride salvaged. Well, at least he’d stop whining like a baby now.

“Heh, guess ya’ ain’t so good at cards, is ya’ Husky-wusky?”

A brow quirk. “Watch it, kid, or I’ll clean you out in ways you can’t imagine.”

. . .fuck, that came out wrong. Angel snickered.

“Oooooo, next time then, cutie.”

Urgh, why’d he say it like that!? Husk mentally slapped himself. Angel, in the meantime, sauntered off, boots clicking against the floor. before he left the room, he paused. He didn’t look at Husk, but his head turned.

“And, er. Thanks.”

Husk didn’t have time to see the lithe silhouette vanish. Thanks? For what? Husk didn’t do anything, he just wanted to see that damn spider play cards right. Yeah, that was it.

That was it.

-*-

Days kept blurring together. Easy to mix them up when everything was glued with cheap booze. Husk had plenty go around, from some shit Reserve to hobowine. Whatever kept his head swimming, at least to a degree. Wasn’t much to keep him busy, to distract him. There was the Miss and her “therapy” sessions – ol’ blondie had a whole blueprint of ideas for redeeming sinners. It was all pointless, of course. No goddamn degenerate sinner would genuinely sit down and try to work through their issues. This was Hell and they were here to indulge. Who’d try at all, honestly? Who?

Hmm. Oh yeah. Him.

Husk was taking one of his usual “cat naps,” a patented I’ve-had-four-bottles-of-beer-and-I’m-snoozing-for-twelve-hours method. He lied back on the living quarters couch, hat pushed over his eyes, ready for slumber.

Until the damn click of boots. Kinky boots. Voices too. Fucking voices!

“. . .creative, but, I think we’ll um, let you keep that one!”

Charlie.

“Whaaat? Aww c’mon! It was – mwah – beautiful! Real Mozart n’shit!”

“That’s. . . that’s music, Angel.”

“Den who was the fancy son’bitch with all the, uh, uh, paintins!? Eh? Er. . .” he snapped his digits, Angel rolling a finger in the air while the other pressed to his head.

“Da’ dick, fuck, what was it. . . Vinny? Vandy?”

Husk growled. For god’s sake, could he not have one damn second in this infernal Hotel to himself!? Was peace too much to ask!?

“Da Vinci!” Husk spat, pulling up his hat and glaring. Charlie and Angel Dust were there, who returned his gaze.

“Oh, mister Husk! Didn’t see you there! You look, uhhh. . . tired.”

Angel covered his mouth, hiding laughs. “Drunk,” said the spider. “Ya’ mean he looks skunked off his ass.”

Husk turned away. “Thanks. Now if you’ll both excuse me.”

“How do ya’ even manage t’get buzzed off that pisswater, gramps?” continued Angel. “Dat stuff ya’ made me, blugh. Oogh, Chuck, ya’ sure ya’ want this palooka mindin’ yer bar?”

Charlie cleared her throat. “I’m not sure a bar is a good idea in the first place but. . .”

“If you don’t like my swill then go piss off somewhere, pretty boy,” scowled husk, back turned.

“Awwh, don’t be a grump!” simpered Angel. “Ya’ just need t’learn.”

“Fuck off.”

Charlie gasped. “Mister Husk! Language! Residents of the Hotel should respect each other.”

Growling. Dammit if he didn’t tolerate the Miss so much Husk woulda’ told her right off too. So, he remained silent.

“Shoot,” continued Charlie. “I need to see Vaggie about dinner. I tell you what!”

She clapped her hands together. “Husk, Angel, why not try some therapy? A little team building. Er, Angel, you could teach Husk how to make a drink you like, maybe?”

Husk could _feel_ the spider’s smile. “Wahahaha, ya’ hear dat ya’ sack o’ grumpy bitch! She thinks ya’ need a lesson!”

Here, Husk twirled, sat up, boggling. “Miss Magne. . . with all due respect. . .”

Charlie just smiled. “Bup! It’s good for you both. You can start right now.”

Right now? Oh goddammit, Devil have mercy on him, he couldn’t deal with this!

 _Why not,_ said a small voice in his head. _What’s the big deal?_

_Because reasons, that’s why!_

_What reasons?_

_That damn spider is what!_

_. . .and?_

_And he’s fucking annoying, a bitchy little brat, a whore and. . . and other shit!_

_. . .aaaand?_

Husk hissed through his teeth. Charlie looked at him expectantly while Angel only offered a smug expression of amusement.

“Yeah, Husky-wusky, lets you’n me have a play date!”

There wasn’t enough drink in the River Styx to get Husk through this. He rubbed his temples, propping hat up, wings flapping in agitation. Charlie, however, looked satisfied.

“Wonderful!” she said, a chorus of musical notes sparkling around her in jubilation. Husk could vomit. Yeah. _Wonderful._

“I got dis,” reassured Angel, crossing his arms and staring down at the cat. “Ol’ boozecat needs t’remember drinks ain’t just fuckin’ nail polish and grape juice.”

Charlie tilted her head. “That sounds horrid. Uh. I’ll leave you two to it, and please, don’t set anything on fire, Niffty _just_ cleaned.”

Angel threw his head back with laughs. “Ain’t makin’ any promises.”

Charlie offered a scrutinizing glance, forcing Angel to clear his throat and reaffirm a promise to be a good boy. Satisfied, she left, leaving Angel and Husk together, alone. Except this time, there was no game to play. Not the kind Husk was familiar with, anyway. Hell, he needed that table, that row of cards. Small talk wasn’t for him, because it usually began with “fuck” and ended with “you.”

“So. . .”

Husk’s ears wiggled in irritation. He turned, forcing himself to sit upright, raising a hand. “I’ll make you a deal legs, how about we just _say_ we learned something, and you leave me alone.”

Angel tilted his head. “Dat ain’t fun at all!”

An eye roll. “Fun. Right. Cause spending time with _you_ is. . .”

Now, here’s something. Husk trailed off. What he wanted to say was a snark, sarcastic tear of a remark, really drive it in how much he disliked Angel Dust. Cause he did. Right? Damn pretty boy always swaggering around like he owned the place, making trouble. Husk didn’t like that.

Yet. . . yet for some goddamn reason. . . he _couldn’t._ He couldn’t get those claws to sink. He looked at Angel’s face, his brow quirked. What he wouldn’t give to see him hunched over in pain, bawl his stupid mismatched eyes out like a bratty twip! Haha. Hah. Hmm. Except, ah. No. No he didn’t want that. Fucking why?

“Uhhh, helllooo?” Angel said, waving a hand. “Ya’ got dementia old man? D’hell you go, back to Nam? Ain’t no Charlie here, ‘cept blondie.”

Husk shook his head. “Look, I’m tired, just, I dunno, do something else.’

“Fuck dat,” challenged the spider. “M’getting’ tired of knockin’ back that great value vinegar ya’ call booze. I’mma show you how to _work it,_ baby!”

The cat grumbled. Wouldn’t let off, huh? “I don’t need your help.”

Come on, spider, just piss off. Go do something else.

Angel would not. “Ohohohohoho YES ya’ do! If we’re stuck with dis’ bar we’ze at least gonna’ get it right.”

Go on! Get! Stop bothering! Go spend your time on somebody who cares. Husk couldn’t care, he didn’t have it left in him. Did he? No point in investing a tired, angry, bitter drunk. A husk, if you will.

But the spider didn’t leave.

“C’mon, stop dickin’ around on the couch. Unless ya’ plannin’ to jackoff?”

Husk glared. Angel grinned.

“I mean, ya’ _do_ yank the crank still, riiiight? Ooo, can I watch? Howzzat work with kitty paws, I mean do ya-”

Husk felt bile in his throat. “Enough, _enough!_ Let’s just get it over with!”

Angel shrugged. “Too bad. A’right, Husky-wusky, take me to ya’ lab.”

By lab, Angel meant the bar. Husk figured the sooner this was done the sooner he could collapse into a state of catatonic rest. So, the two waltzed to said bar, fitted with its green neon signs, appearing as though it were ripped from a different building and jammed into the Hotel foyer.

Husk took position behind the bar, Angel propping himself on stool, leaning _excessively_ on the wood as his puff cleavage shoved into view. Husk ignored this while the spider propped chin on hands, the spare ones resting on bar, tapping it.

“Ya know when dey say ‘what’s yer poison,’ well, it ain’t s’posed to be literal, whiskers.”

“I _know_ what it means.”

Hand waves. “Yeahyeahyeah. Alright. . .”

Angel leaned, cracking his fingers. “Let’s start reaaaaaaal easy. Whatcha’ got for sodie?”

Husk blinked. “You mean pop?”

 _“_ No. _Sodie.”_

 _“_ POP.”

_Don’t start with me.”_

Husk groused. Little. . . fine, whatever.

As for inventory, Hell’s equivalent of carbonated drinks was none too clever, a literal thievery of names with letters exchanged. Koke was, unsurprisingly, Coke. Once Husk brought it out, Angel nodded his head, slapping the table.

“Good! Koke n’rum. Set’m up! Show me da’ ladies!”

By ‘ladies,’ Angel meant Husk’s rum choices. He set out a few dark and gold choices, but Angel settled on the latter.

“We ain’t futzin’ with the dark stuff! Ol’ goldie’ll do.”

Angel snagged said rum, a take on _Voodoo,_ promptly accompanying it with a measurement of soda. He focused, eyes squinting, biting his tongue as he did, careful to add the _precise_ amount of alcohol and _precise_ amount of carbonated drink. It mixed in a small glass, Angel wiggling it around, taking a quick taste.

“Ahhh,” he said with a gasp. “There. Even a fuckin’ prom queen could get this down.”

Husk watched on, unimpressed. “Wow, soda and alcohol, you’re a visionary.”

“Shaddup! That’s entry level! C’mon, Husky wusky, dis is real simple stuff! Pay attention!”

“I know how to make a coke and rum!’

Angel sipped at his drink again. “Suuuuure. But ya’ prefer the cheap shit, don’t ya?”

Husk didn’t respond.

Once again, Angel tapped the table. “Since you’ze was so polite in teachin’ me how to clean out dat one eyed twerp, s’pose I’ll do ya’ a solid, show ya’ how to make a real bangarang of a knockout drink, eh?”

He twirled his gloved finger again. “Set me up, baby, we’ze doin’ _a French 75_!”

The cat blinked. “You kidding? That sounds like prissy bullshit.”

“Oh, quit yer whinin’! Bout’ time somebody helped ya’ with yer horrid _taste!”_ Angel said, making finger quotes.

Husk sighed, rolling his eyes, figuring the sooner he did this the sooner he’d get the spider out of his feathers. So, he set up the cocktail ingredients, some gin and champagne, though lacked the sugar. Angel grumbled, noting this, shuffling through his fluff cleavage.

“Hang on, I got dis. . .”

He retrieved two packets of _Splatta,_ Hell’s equivalent of _Splenda._ “Some mook I slept with once was a real coffee nut, insisted he’d tip me with deze. Fuckin’ weirdo. But it’ll do. . .”

“You’re kidding.”

Angel sneered. “Bitch, do I got a mic? Is it standup at _Three Fingers?_ Set em’ up.”

Husk ignored this, “setting up” as requested. With surprising finesse (like really surprising, Husk had to silently admit), Angel whipped up the drink in a narrow cocktail glass, finishing it up and sliding it over to the cat demon.

“There. Easy, see? And it don’t taste like a goat pissed in ya’ mouth.”

Husk was tempted to ask how Angel acquired this information but. . . decided against it. The glass pushed to him, he eyed the liquid like it were _literal_ poison, much to Angel’s agitation.

“Fuckin’ slug it back ya’ big baby.”

Another eye roll. Fine, fine, if it’d get this spider to go away. Husk did as told, drinking the cocktail back and. . . eh. Eh? Hey, huh. _Huh._ Not. . . too bad. Certainly, far too sweet for his taste, _way_ too sweet. A lot of extra steps for the end result of getting blackout drunk. But, it wasn’t cheap booze, that was for sure. And he could see the spider was genuinely intrigued by the cat’s reaction. Maybe he tried to hide it, but those mismatched eyes were studying Husk _carefully._ For some damn reason, some kernel of Husk couldn’t bring himself to be an asshole about this. Why? Ugh, whatever.

“Aaaaaand?” said Angel, head leaning in.

Husk shrugged. “It’s _fine.”_

Angel returned with a smug smirk. “N’hahaha, told ya’, barfly.”

Husk, out of respect for alcohol, finished it. _Never_ waste alcohol, even if it was an effeminate choice. No surprise the spider liked cocktails, goddamn name implication was there and everything.

“The hell did you learn how to do this, anyway?”

Angel polished his fingers on chest, still wearing his smirk. “Ya’ learn ‘bout a buncha shit on the streets. Turnin’ freelance tricks introduces ya’ to all sorts o’ weirdos. Well, rich ones, anyway. Dem palookas really like their drinky-drink, I tell ya’ that.”

Guess that made sense. “Sounds like a _blast.”_

The spider’s smirk melted. “Hah. It ain’t.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Angel flicked his eyes to Husk. “Exactly what it sounds like, toots.”

Devil below, was everything with this spider a back and forth? Husk growled, tired of the antics. “Could you spare me the goddamn riddles?”

Angel paused, as if considering. He took the other drink, the Koke and rum, guzzling that down too with surprising ease.

“I mean, is what it is, kitty. Servin’ drinks for dicks. Some is nice, most are rude. Buncha’ assholes, mostly. Had to learn how t’be all fancy n’shit, cause’ dat’s _proper decorum._ Ugh. Well, anyway, ya learn to put up with a whooole buncha shit when you’ze tipsy, see?”

Well, to that Husk could relate. Nothing made the days go by easier than a good, long talk with Mister Booze. Speaking of. . .

Husk poured himself some rum (straight, of course), throwing it back. Hot, intense liquid burned his throat with a nice spiced aftertaste. Ahh, been a while since he indulged in the good shit. Hmm. Guess he could handle more of this conversation if rum was involved.

“So I got reaaaaal good at it. Helped _plenty._ Nmph, toss it back with a few buzzers and a fat line, oh baby!” continued Angel, smacking his hands together.

“Fuckin’ flyin’! Was dat good shit, made it all nice and tolerable. I mean, the dicks was fun, the fucks they attached to? Eh. Leave em’.”

Husk shivered. “Spare me the details, would ya?”

“Hey, _you’ze_ asked me.”

So, he did. It was strange, this feeling coming into Husk. It wasn’t the details of Angel’s past that bothered him. No, not that at all. A guy getting fucking slammed by cock? Big deal. He’d seen worse, heard worse, and probably done worse if he could be assed to remember. But, no, what bothered him was the predicament of it all. For some reason he couldn’t pin down, thinking of Angel in those situations made him oddly uncomfortable. Why? Why the hell did he care? Why did he shudder at the idea of Angel sleeping with people he didn’t like, serving repulsive clientele treating him like nothing but holes and hands?

He cleared his throat, taking another shot of rum. “Hard market, I hear.”

Angel grinned. “Oh yeah, babe, _very_ hard. Oh, dis one client I had, aw he was like, a fuckin’ stallion, like, literally. Horse between the legs. Fuckin’ sucked.”

“Since when do whores care about size?”

Angel didn’t show it, but Husk felt him flinch. Hmm. Too much claw.

“Ain’t always ‘bout size. ‘Bout what’cha do with it. N’guess what? Fucker was about as subtle as, ah, well, me! Ahaha.”

Angel buried his eyes in hand, laughing. “Wahaha, shit, I had t’get so fuckin’ tweeked for dat guy. Booze wasn’t gonna’ cut it, I tell ya’ that.”

Husk glanced at the bar, flexing his claws, feeling. . . stiff. “Sounds like a real fun time with a swell chum,” he said, sarcastic.

Angel stopped laugh. “Yeah. _Fun.”_

There was a pause. This idea, it made Husk uncomfortable. Devil, _why?_ Urgh. He poured another shot. And then. . . one for Angel. With the koke. This, in fact, brightened the spider, his expression lighting up.

“We doin’ shots, kitty?”

Husk blinked, eyes a little watery. “Only if you want a bad time.”

Angel grinned, gold tooth glinting. “We doin’ _shots!”_

-*-

[Oh fuuuuuuuck. He was swimming. Drowning.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoK5BjlmGBY)

Hohoholy shit how many did Husk knock back? He couldn’t remember. He was barley holding it together. Everything was bright and fuzzy and kinda’ euphoric. Warm and. . . mmm. Mmm? Yeah that.

Angel. This Angel. Aaaaaangel. Shit, this spider could _hold his drink._ Every shot he kept up with Husk, though now his frame was all lose, squished over the bar, cheeks a bright pink with an empty glass in his hand.

“Daaaamn, whiskers,” said Angel, barely coherent. “Youuu can fuckin’ paaarty.”

Husk waved him off, wings drooping from the weight of alcohol. “Yeah, yeah, I ain’t. . . I ain’t no. . . sissy. . .”

Angel spat with laughter. “Pffbhbhbht. I am! I’mmm da’ sissy, eeheheheh!”

Alcohol. Alcohol you bitch. The solution and cause of all problems. Like a key, it yanked something open, unlocked a part of Husk, peeled back his inhibitions. Revealed things. Raw things, warm things, tender things. This spider. . . Angel Dust. What the hell was _this?_ This _feeling?_ No. Shoo. Go away. Get back in there. Get back in your mental grave. Fuck.

“Nah,” Husk challenged. “Not. You. You, nrm, you d’serve better.”

Nope. No grave. Consider it exhumed. Consider those feelings _out._

Angel lifted his head which swayed in short sashays, taking long, slow blinks. Took him a few tries before he finally processed the words.

“N’huh?” he gurgled. “Deserve?”

Husk frowned, angry. Angry at people he didn’t know. Angry at sinners he didn’t care about. Angry because. . . why? Fuck, because they hurt the spider, that’s why. And he didn’t like that. WHY!?

“Yeah,” Husk continued, pointing. “Ya’ do. Shouldn’t have to put up with all that bulllshhhiiit.”

Angel blinked a few more times, laughing, drunk cackles shaking his frame. “Haha, ya’ must be, must be off yer aaasss Husky,” he slurred.

“I ain’t slurred nothin’” Husk shot back.

The spider chuckled, pushing himself off the bar, standing, almost toppling over, wobbling from side to side. They’d been at it for a while now. So long they probably didn’t hear Charlie call for dinner. So long that when Charlie saw them, she observed their drunk – but friendly – state and decided to leave them that way (much to Vaggie’s aggravation).

“Yeah ya’ is,” said Angel, room swimming around him. “C’mooon whiskers, let’s. . . heh. . . let’s get upstairs, m’bout to fallll over, ahaha!”

Husk blinked. “Why?”

“Caaaause ya’ drunk as shit ya’ fuckin barfly!”

“Sssor’you!”

Angel didn’t hear him, or rather, didn’t care to. Instead, he reached out and tugged Husk by the shoulder, yanking him along. “C’mooooooon.”

Husk tried to fight him off, but by fight it was more a few lame wing flaps, grumbling. “Bah!”

When his feet hit the ground, his legs were like wet noodles. Hardly held up, they did. Shit, wow, was he really that far in? What the fuck! He was going back and forth with he spider, and said spider was _still standing!_ No soddin’ way Angel could drink him under the table! Er, right?

They moved. Did they? The ground was like an ocean, heaving and ebbing. Husk could hardly keep his eyes straight, and yet, he kept pace with Angel who hoisted him by the shoulder, spare arm around Husk’s side, moving him upstairs. God he was so insufferably close! This was the worst! So terrible!

Yeah. H-hah. Terrible. Angel Dust was. . . er. Soft. Really soft. Pleasantly so. His grip was warm and proximity enticing. He smelled good. Kinda had an easy perfume clinging to him, ignoring the stench of hard alcohol stained on his breath. Normally Husk wouldn’t care for these details, but, it was getting to him. Getting to him?

They went to his room. Wait, wait, hang on, no they didn’t. Husk was dizzy but not so fucked up he could tell this pink interior was _not_ his.

“Whaaa?”

Angel snickered, kicking the door shut. “Yeaaah I fergot where ya’ room isss, so let’s use mine!”

Use his? Use his for what? As far as Husk knew he just wanted to black and wake up a couple days later. That was his usual tactic.

He blinked. His eyes opened and he was on Angel’s bed. The FUCK? He didn’t even remember moving! He was near the door, then he was right here! Sitting, wobbling, rubbing his head. “What the hell are we doing. . .”

Angel joined him, and by join, sort of feel on him and into him. “Nooothiiin!” he slurred, chuckling. “We just gettin’ all familiar, issall!”

Familiar? No, Husk didn’t want that, nor did he like it! People weren’t supposed to get closed to him. He didn’t like that. He buried that shit a long, long time ago. Right? Urgh.

 _Urgh._ But alcohol had yanked the curtains open, revealed the stage and all its flaws. Exposed his soul, drowned his mind, melted those iron chains that locked his emotions down. Pushed aside his reservations, leaving this vulnerable drunken old grump in its place. Hrmph.

Angel pushed close. Like, real close. Brr. Why? His lips pressed into Husk’s necked and _what the fuck._ “Hwehe, you’ze real soft, Husky wusky.”

“The hell are you doing?” Husk challenged. Go on, push him away. He had enough sense to get this pretty boy off him any time he wanted. But. . .

He didn’t want that. So, what then?

“Gettin’ cozy, wassit’ look like m’doin, dumbass?” said Angel, wearing a grin. Hrmph.

Cozy? Cozy. Was it so wrong to want cozy? Goddammit, booze, it was fucking Husk up, couldn’t keep his mind straight. Heh. Straight. He didn’t even like Angel that way!

_What way?_

_This way._

_Yeah, uh, about that._

Something twitched. As well, Husk put his arm and wing around Angel, cupping his shoulder. Why? Because. . . _because._ Listening to all those shitheads who treated him so bad. I mean, nobody deserved that, not even this drag queen brat. Bad enough he had to take it hard from his family, those Mafia pricks, but Down here? He didn’t like that. Didn’t like that _idea._ So he could, you know, just protect Angel, right now, with his arm, under his wing (literally). Angel took notice.

“Oooo. . .” he purred, putting his extra arms around Husk’s waist. “I liiiiiike dis.”

Husk looked away. “Whatever.”

He didn’t get to stare at the wall long, because a pair of gloved hands came to his cheek, pulling him to focus on Angel. Those beautiful mismatched eyes swamp up to him, so wide and innocent. Despite how perverse Angel was and no doubt had been, he was so tender.

Fuck, get a hold of yourself old man, the hell is your problem?

Husk blinked. _He_ started to purr.

Angel noticed and chuckled. “Heheheheh, purrin’ is we? Ya’ big fuckin’ softie.”

Husk snarled. “I ain’t no softie.”

“You’ze got your arm around me, babe.”

Before Husk could bite back, Angel pressed his mouth forward. His hot, soft lips met Husk’s mouth. At first, Husk boggled, uncertain, a spike of hot electricity erupting through him. What did he do? Well, not retaliate, that was for sure. He felt those supple lips touch his own and it was like a drug got injected in his brain. Well, it was Angel Dust after all.

That swimming euphoria combined with the dizzying buzzy of Alcohol put him off his ass. It was too good. Devil fucking below it had been so long. The warmth and comfort of another _body_ was enough but, here, it was Angel Dust and his head was spinning. He felt Angel flick off his hat but, didn’t really care.

More lip smacks, Angel so close he could taste him. A brief moment the spider broke off, wearing a come-hither gaze, cheeks flushed.

“Grgh,” said Husk, glancing down, “How come you got such big tits, eh?”

Adrenalin helped him with coherence, at least. Angel cackled. “Ohhh, ya’ wanna’ see em, eh?”

Yes? No? Husk was a mix of curious and desire. Okay, well, mostly desire, and a lot of other shit he was trying to work out. Didn’t matter, Angel was taking the lead. He stripped out of his attire rather quickly, putting gloves aside and letting his fluff “bust” pop free, an interesting supple pair of floof that did a damn fine job of simulating tits. What a thing indeed.

“C’mon Husky, let’s start feeelin’ good,” Angel cooed, pushing Husk down to his back. Husk didn’t resist. Damn. Wow. What the fuck.

Wait, Angel was a whore. When was he gonna’ ask about getting paid?

He scoffed. “How much is this shit setting me back?”

Angel smirked, pushing a finger to Husk’s lips. “Nnshoosh.”

Shoosh? Who did he think he was!?

Another twitch. Angel’s hand went to Husk’s loins.

. . .oh.

-*-

Recollecting all that was pretty hard. Husk remembered some stuff. He remembered how the spider’s fingers wrapped around his length with ease, rolling his palm across the mast with practiced smoothness. He remembered those sweet, hot lips wrapping around his tip and suckling him. He remembered groaning a lot. He also remembered Angel mounting him and tossing his hips as they both moaned and well. . . fucked.

What he _could_ recollect was the pink room, because he was still in it. His eyelids closed post-orgasm and here they were open again, staring at an unfamiliar pink ceiling. Shit, this was a lot of pink. At his side. . . the spider. Right there. Sleeping on his wing, like an angel, curled and close.

But not an angel, _the_ Angel. Hum.

The spider was still asleep. He could still shuffle off, leave him here, pretend like this had never happened, as was his usual strategy. Not like the whore would give him trouble for it, it was a free lay, and he’d gotten Husk drunk! Was Angel’s fucking fault.

But he didn’t. He didn’t move. He didn’t run off. Rather, he turned to his side a bit and swung the other wing around Angel’s frame. Why? What was this? Oh, come on, Husker, don’t start making this a thing, last thing you need is to get all fucking tied up in the web of some pretty boy. Right?

Agh. Goddammit.

Wasn’t long until Angel started to shift awake, rubbing his eyes. They fluttered open, hazy with sleep and hangover, widening when they saw Husk was still there.

“Da. . . fuck?” croaked Angel. His floof hair was a mess and he looked like death, eyes sagging. Looks like he could hold his booze, but _not_ after the fact. Husk said nothing, just maintained his frown.

“Awh, shiet,” muttered Angel. “Dat wasn’t a dream?”

For a moment, Husk flinched. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Agggghh,” Angel groaned. “M’fuckin’ head. . . don’t talk so loud.”

Husk growled. Shoulda’ known this harlot wasn’t after anything more than an easy lay. He retracted his wing, grunting.

Angel pushed himself, up, gurgling in pain. “Damn. . ya’ still here,” he commented.

“Pftah. So I am. Pardon the _inconvenience._ ”

Weary, Angel cast the moping cat demon a confused glance. “The hell is yer’ fuckin’ problem? Figured ya’d shoot n’scoot.”

He left the bed, making more pained sounds, going to his dresser and pulling out a bag of something.

“Need a good mornin’ egg,” he continued, looking around.

Husk’s ears flicked. So. . . hang on. . .

“You want to handle your little hangover on your own, lightweight?” Husk said.

Angel mostly ignored him, waving a hand. “What’s yer rush, whiskers,” he said, voice dry and hard. “Fraid’ you’ll wanna’ get yer dick sucked again?”

Husk didn’t respond. He paused, considering his words.

“You uh. . . doing okay?”

Angel continued to shuffle around the room, pulling out a glass, pouring something in a glass, and then mixing the bag’s substance in the liquid. In one swig, he knocked it back, sputtering and coughing, beating his fluff cleavage.

“FUCK.”

Guess not.

Angel turned to, shivering. “Yeh, yeh, m’fine.”

It dawned on Husk that Angel was still naked. Huh. Damn. He um. He looked good. His lithe frame bore gentle curves, quite shapely despite how thin he was. Oddly, his rather worn-down state was attractive too. All the paint and pomp was off, leaving a raw, grumbly Angel. A real part of the spider, not dressed in snark and prissy sarcasm.

Fuck, what did Husk say? What did he even do in this situation? Shit. He had no idea.

He pushed himself up, scratching his head, looking for his hat. “Look. Um. I think I uh. Should get back downstairs. . .”

Angel stared at Husk, a little crestfallen. His glance went downcast, then the spider shrugged. “Oh. Okay.”

Come on Husk, seal the deal. “But I mean, look hey, er, Angel. Uhh. This was all right. Not a total bad time.”

Angel brightened. “Eh?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Uh. Let’s maybe. . . do. . . another game some time. I’ll teach you something else.”

A timid smile appeared on Angel’s face. “Heh. Alright. Sure. _Sure._ Just fuckin’ bring good drinks dis’ time, whiskers.”

Husk nodded. “It’s a deal.”

He stood, flapping his wings, deciding to wash up before heading back down. As he did, however, he paused at the door, turning to Angel.

“Hey, uh. Y’deserve better,” he commented. “You do.”

He didn’t let Angel respond before leaving the room, heading to his own quarters, the buzz of alcohol leaving him, leaving only the shell of himself. He didn’t know what to think of this, none of it. And that’s because he preferred _not_ to think. That’s why he drank, cause alcohol solved his problems. Made the days easier.

But goddamn, this wasn’t easy at all. None of it was. Fuck. _Fuck._ The hell did he get himself tangled into? Shit.

Sometimes, alcohol just ain’t enough.


	2. Alcohol Just Ain't Enough - II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Husk is coerced to take chaperone Angel on his big night out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2! Another commissioned piece thanks to my reader Minigma!

**Alcohol Just Ain’t Enough - II**

You _did_ say you were gonna’ teach him more, Husk.

The winged-sinner tapped his claws on bar, resting cheek in the other. Watching, grumbling, musing. Annoyed, but not for his usual reasons. Not cause’ he wasn’t eighty percent alcohol right now, but because, well.

“No take backs!”

Angel Dust was in the room, grinning, wiggling a finger. Two of his spare arms were crossed while he flicked a coin in another, sneering at Charlie.

“I was a good boy, so _you’ze_ hasta’ make good on yer little deal, Chuck!”

Deals. Not the kind Husk was good at. Rather, this was part of Charlie’s little “scheme,” one of the carrots she used to try and keep the Hotel residents on a tight leash. Considering that was really only an issue for Angel, well, it only applied to him. Mostly. Essentially, she handed out “good tokens” for either doing “good” things or essentially not getting fucked up (or fucking someone up). And, the spider, against all fate and odds, managed to get enough after a couple weeks.

And what was the first thing he wanted to do? A little night on the town, _of course_. After all, if you could prove yourself “reliable” at the Hotel, you could manage it in the City too, yeah? _Hah._

Angel was plenty proud and full of himself, of course. Charlie forced a smile, rubbing a hand through golden locks. “Ahh, h-hah, well, yep, I _did_ kinda’ promise, didn’t I?”

The spider wiggled the tokens through his fingers before flicking them in the air again. “Sure did, blondie. And you ain’t gonna go back on dat, is ya? I mean, that’d be. . .”

Angel feigned shock, putting a hand to his lips, glancing to left and right before leaning closer to her. “ _Lying._ You ain’t a liar, is ya!?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “I get it, Angel. I wasn’t lying.”

She cleared her throat, holding out hand. “As, er, owner of this Hotel and heir to the throne, I command you um, stay out of trouble! And, er, don’t do anything bad out there!”

Husk watched this play out with bitter agitation. Ugh, was the Miss really _this_ naïve? One glance at that greedy spider and he could see he was planning something. He was Angel Dust! Hell, he knew that if he simmered down for just a _little_ he could get right back into those indulgences. Drugs, alcohol, sex. Urgh. Sex. Hah, like Husk fuckin’ cared. That twippy duster of a cotton-candy spunkhead could get railed by anybody he wanted. Like Husk gave a shit.

He growled, fishing out some cheap booze and swigging it back. _Urgh._

“Ahaha, ohhhh I ain’t gonna’ do anything,” said Angel, handing over the tokens. Christ, if that lie was a drink Husk would throw it back cause it would hit _hard._

“Will you at least tell me where you’re going?” asked Charlie, pocketing the tokens. Angel deflected, tapping his chin.

“Oh ya’ know, _around.”_

Around? Hmf. Probably around other guys. Guys that would fuck em’ and use em’ and shit. Again, not like Husk gave a flippity fuck.

“Greeeat,” chimed Charlie. “Just, um, be back at a good hour, okay?”

Angel shrugged. “It’s always a good hour with me, babe.” With a snicker, he pranced off, a little extra shake in his hips as he ventured upstairs to his room, no doubt to get ready. Husk caught himself watching those legs work a little too long before drowning the thought with another swig.

And then other thoughts, like, somebody else touching Angel, running their fingers over his legs before pulling open his shirt and then. . .

“Hi mister Husk!”

Charlie’s dazzling voice interrupted. Husk sputtered, scowling at the smiling Charlie. “I feeeel kinda’ odd for asking but, could you make me a little something?”

Husk blinked. He almost smiled. “Are you fuckin’ around?”

She leered at him. “Bup! Language, please! And no, _I’m not._ I can drink too, you know!”

Husk gave her _a look_ before conceding. “Uh huh. Well, ain’t never a bad time to get scuzzed. What’s your poison?”

“Oh, dealer’s choice!”

That so? Well, he took it _real_ easy on her and did something akin to a peach schnapps. That was practically alcoholic pop, if she could handle that. When he gave her the bubbly liquid, she clapped her hands before taking a drink.

Hmm. “So. Angel,” started Husk. “Lettin’ him off the leash, huh?”

Charlie took a gulp before glancing to the winged sinner. “Oh. Well, he _did_ get enough good tokens. I made a promise, soooo. . .”

“Miss, come on!” continued Husk _at once,_ “He’s gonna get boozed up or drugged up or fuckin’ worse! We’ll be seeing him on the news and he’ll be blowin’ shit up or what the fuck ever! Or blowin’ guys! Thinka’ that shit! What’s it gonna’ do for the Hotel’s rep, huh!?”

Charlie blinked. Husk felt his cheeks redden and noted the _heat_ of his tone, before realizing, uh, a little too thick.

She glanced to the side. “Well. Yes. I suppose that could happen but, that’s the risk. If I can’t believe in him, how will he get better?”

Husk grunted again. “I’m just sayin’, on his own? Askin’ for trouble.”

Charlie tilted his head. “On his _own?”_

Husk said nothing, grousing. Yeah, on his own! Whatever! Was she crazy!? Who was gonna’ look after him!? Fucking hell.

She took another drink and rubbed her chin. “Hmm. Well. . . I guess. . . he _could_ have a chaperone. He might not like it though.”

Husk said nothing. His heart skipped a beat though. Fucking _why?_ Why did he _care_ so much!? Wait, no, he didn’t. He didn’t care about nothin’ except when his next drink was. In the meantime, Charlie snapped her finger.

“Hey! That’s it!”

Husk glanced at her. “What?”

“You two! Yeah! You guys got along, right? Ever since you talked with Angel he was really on the up-and-up! This would be perfect then! You could keep him out of trouble and keep bonding!”

Husk put on his façade of immediate disgust and revulsion, forcing a frown on his face. He had to, because when she said Angel was doing better, his wretched, black heart _skipped another beat._ Unbelievable. This was total nonsense, these feelings. He’d lost the ability long ago, so this had to be some bullshit, all this internal stuff going on. It _had_ to be.

He realized he was silent. So he sputtered, acting irritated. “Are you kidding me!? I don’t have fuckin’ time to support no tramp! I’m not gonna be his bodyguard while he whores off to some asshole!”

Charlie blinked. “I didn’t say _whore off,_ mister Husk. I meant tag along, see that he doesn’t get into too much trouble. Maybe he’s getting better. But someone there with him could reaaaally keep temptations away.”

He chuckled bitterly. “What makes _you_ think I’m the kinda’ guy to do that?”

Charlie paused, tapping her chin, thinking it over. “Hrm. Well. I guess when you put it like that, I could get one of the Bois, maybe.”

Husk blinked and at once his mind switched gears. “Fucking hell fine I’ll do it that’d be even worse _theycouldn’tkeephimoutoftroubleiftheytried.”_

Charlie parsed the words. “Uhhh. . . oh. Wait. So you’ll do it!”

Husk tried to maintain his aloof exterior, flapping wings in aggravated fashion. “What do I get out of it, anyway?”

“Tokens!” said Charlie in an excited hop. “And hell, I’ll throw in a pack of your favorite beer, mister Husk!”

Well Husk didn’t give a shit about tokens. Alcohol, though, he could abide by that. He scowled. “Hmph. Alright.”

Charlie brightened. “Really!?”

“Yeah, yeah. You better make good on your end though, Miss.”

-*-

Angel wasn’t rightly _thrilled_ about hearing he had a chaperone, but he wasn’t devastated, either. He wasn’t about to let some schmuck ruin his night out, considering he didn’t get them as much these days. In the back of the cab, even, he looked downright jubilant, looking himself over with a flip mirror, performing makeup touch ups, checking his skirt, that sort of thing.

Husk said nothing on the way. _That was hard._ Every other moment Angel checked his gold tooth or scrolled through his Hellphone, he had the urge to snark or say something rude. But he didn’t. Why? Hell, giving Angel a rough time the _whole way_ sounded hilarious, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Why ruin the small talk?

_Small talk!? Why the hell are you tryin’ to chew the fat with this. . ._

He wanted to think “whore” but he forced himself not to. He didn’t get it.

“Alright, legs,” Husk grumbled, “Where we headed?”

Angel grinned, not looking at Husk while he finished fussing over himself. “Wouldn’t you like t’know?”

“Don’t get cute with me.”

“Why not?” said Angel, flicking his mischievous mismatched eyes to Husk. “’Fraid ya’ get all sweet on me, prickles?”

“Knock it off,” Husk deflected. “I wanna’ know what kinda bullshit I got roped into.”

Angel Dust snickered. “Fer yer information, s’little sweet hotspot. _Pinque Tips.”_

What and _what?_ Husk felt bile rise in his throat. That sounded like a place for floozies to act _more_ like floozies. “Great.”

“Settle down, Husky wusky. They got tables n’shit. M’gonna clean some pockets out tonight, y’see.”

Tables? Wait, did he mean _gambling_ tables?

“The hell you say?”

Angel gestured at himself. “M’gonna rob em’ blind, ahahaha! Oh, and get fuckin’ wasted, but I feel like makin’ some palookas piss em’selves.”

Huh. All right, uh. This was something? “You’re talkin’ a big fucking game, kiddo. You sure you got the face for it?”

Angel didn’t respond at once, rather pushed back into the seat, cross his legs, and maintain a pleased, self-satisfied smirk. “I _did_ learn from da’ best,” he said, a bit quiet.

Husk didn’t know what he meant at first. And then, the words managed to dig through his hazy alcohol-laced booze brain to make sense of it. Angel meant him. He was giving _him_ a compliment. Heart did its whole “skipping a beat routine” again.

The winged sinner said nothing else. He _almost_ smiled. Almost.

-*-

Typically, Husk’s first impression of anything that wasn’t a chaotic casino with fools at the table he could swindle cash out of was that it _sucked._ He about thought the same way of _Pinque Tips,_ but it was surprisingly serviceable. As far as casino joints went, it was a fairly small operation. Big enough, sure, plenty of tables and machines coupled with areas for sinners to get boozed up like idiots to loosen their mouths and wallets. Was it the _Styx of Seven?_ No. The _Sugary Chigurh_? Fucking of course not. But it did the job.

It was familiar, and Husk got into his rhythm pretty quick. Some spied him at a distance, cursing under their breath. Even here he was a well-known card-shark. Or that was to say, cheat, though nobody ever proved it.

He stuck close to Angel in the meantime, who, by all accounts, _devoured_ the scene. Husk was quiet but Angel was _well_ aware of the gazes flashing his way. He put an extra swing in his hips and raised his chin, all proud and flamboyant. When some recognized him, shouting his name, he gave them a little finger wave or blew them a kiss. Husk didn’t like that, but he couldn’t understand why. Who fucking cares who the spider tried to be coy with? He was a loose tongue, he’d go after anything. But _still._

“So, poker,” Husk interjected as the two overlooked a small ocean of card tables. “You sure about that?”

“Naw,” tossed Angel. “Not yet, whiskers. M’parched! Need a little somethin’ t’warm me up!”

He gestured to a bar in the far side of the casino, where an army of drinks, mixers, and ingredients awaiting in tempting, glorious fashion. Vastly better than cheap booze. Husk salivated.

“Dey got some of da’ best local sauce on dis’ side of the turfs. I learned a buncha’ shit here.”

Husk suddenly found himself as dry as the Dead Sea. A _good_ drink sure would be fuckin’ great about now, get the dust off his wings. And then perhaps Dust on his wings.

Hang on, what? Well he shoved that concept aside while Angel tugged at him. “C’mon, barfly, I ain’t gettin’ younger.”

They reached the bar and Angel took himself a proud seat, Husk taking one next to the spider. Angel’s eyes flashed over the armada of bottles and ingredients, tapping the table with excited fingers. “See, dis is different,” he said, gesturing. “Dis place lets ya’ make yer own shit. Only fuckin’ corner that does that in the whooole West Side. Just pick em’ n’mix em’!”

Husk blinked. “Oh yeah, and what if someone runs off with a whole thing of aged bourbon?”

Angel snickered. “Dey’ shoot ya!”

Alright, fair enough. Husk grunted before scanning over the army of different alcohols. Lots of stuff there someone with a creative mind could do. Hmm. Well, wasn’t _he_ creative too? He could make one. For himself. Yeah. Himself. Not that goddamn spider, no sir, not hm. Certainly, he had no interest in whipping up a little drink to show Angel he actually _listened_ from before and took some advice. No. Fuckin’. Way.

“You want something?” he said, voice doing its best to sound gruff. Angel looked at him.

“Nhuh?”

Awgh shit, don’t open your chest, idiot. “I don’t know if I trust you mixin’ a drink, kiddo.”

Angel realized what he was implying. “Oh, ya’ sayin’ ya’ actually _learned_ somethin’, barfly? I ain’t downin’ pisswater!”

Husk didn’t reply, shrugging, trying to keep it cool. Only problem was his “cool” was normally at the table. In the meanwhile, the barkeep strode over, a tall demon with bluish flesh and lean features, flicking yellow eyes between Angel and Husk.

“Ahh, _Angelo,_ it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Angel snorted. “Don’t go buy dat’ no more, inkspot. Just Angel de’ze days.”

“So the skinhouses say,” chimed the attendant. He and Angel shared a laugh that was _too_ comfortable for Husk’s taste.

He cleared his throat. “So, barkeep, I hear we pick em’ and mix em.”

The demon looked at him. “Correct.”

“Good. Then set up em’, son.”

Angel couldn’t help but toss a curious glance at the ol’ grumpy cat. The hell was he planning, here?

“Ohoho, shit. Lookin’ like my date came all cock-hard.”

The barkeep quirked a brow. “One of your evening clients, sir?”

Husk growled, fighting back a flush, snarling. “What? Fuck off! I’m here to make sure he takes one dick, not twelve!”

“I _see.”_

“Just shut up and do your job.”

The barkeep hid a chuckle. “And what will you be selecting tonight, sir?”

Husk did his best to ignore the oh-so obvious dots connecting and listed off his selection. It wasn’t one, but multiple. The drink was a _Streetcar,_ or Hell’s equivalent. It was a real knuckle-buster, a fuck you drink of rebellious proportions. Or rather, a dramatic way of saying a favorite during the prohibition era, because what better way to spite stupid laws than to have a goddamn good time? Cognac, triple-sec, and “lemon” juice were mixed and filtered together, rimmed with sugar. Normally Husk would skip that shit, but he figured Angel liked his stuff a little on the “nicer” side.

Once it was finished, it was poured into a cocktail glass. Angel watched with surprised fascination, and of course, licked his lips in the presence of a decently made drink. Even the bartender was impressed.

“Sir, are you trying to steal my job?”

Husk snorted. “What, standin’ around like a useless mook? Already doin’ that.”

The remark procured a chuckle from Angel, and Husk couldn’t help but feel a measure of pride. Wait, no, not pride!

As he shushed the thought aside, he gave Angel the drink with an attempt at flippancy. The spider snagged it, of course, taking a gentle sip. As he did, he paused, pulling the glass away and staring at it. For the briefest of seconds, Husk thought he had fucked up somewhere, until the spider reassured this by downing it instantly. He beat his fluff with fist, gasping, and wiping his lips.

“Fuck!” he shouted. “Dat’s good shit, whiskers! Th’hell!? How’d ya learn t’whip up somethin’ so tasty, barfly!?”

Husk rolled his eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

Dammit, why’d his heart have to skip a beat, _again_? He tried to shrug it off. Well, booze helped, so Husk ordered himself another something, but it was easy sauce, just some hard bourbon. Maybe that would settle him down, get him to concentrate.

Once the duo was nice and fuzzy, Angel stood with a stretch. “Nuff’ warmin’ up. Let’s fuck these tables up.”

“Hah,” Husk chortled bitterly. “No way they’re gonna’ let me sit. I win too much.”

“Ya’ mean ya’ cheat.”

Husk said nothing. Angel, though, pranced towards the other side of _Pinque Tips_ where said tables were. There, all sorts of gambling games were up. Simple ways to lose simple money. But Angel wasn’t content with any ol’ pocket-picker, oh no, he had his eyes on the games of wit: poker. Specifically _Hold Em’,_ the one they both played together.

Husk noted, seeing the spider’s enthuse. “You sure you got the face for this?”

“Pftah,” Angel snorted.

“The _cash?”_

Angel fished from his purse and yanked out a healthy stack. Damn. Guess he was kinda’ loaded. From what? Well, Husk figured from other johns and he didn’t want to pursue that line of thinking. Rather, he kept fairly close to the spider as Angel found himself a table, swiping a seat. Naturally, Hell’s biggest porn star drew looks from other onlookers, and then to Husk, intermixed with sordid murmurs. Fuck. Did they think he was a date? Or a client? _Ugh._

There were a couple of others at the table who glared at Husk. “Hey!” one of them said. “I dunno’ what this is, but I ain’t playin’ with that guy!”

Angel cracked his fingers and waived them off. “Quit’cher bitchin’, princess, s’me ya’ gotta worry about. You prom queens wanna’ play or are we just gonna’ gossip?”

Immediately their attention swung to Angel and aggravated grumbles came afterward. “Was lickin’ dick not making enough money?” one of the sitting demons said.

“Course _lickin’_ don’t make enough money ya’ fuckin amateur!” Angel snarked. “Not like you’d know. Now stop stallin’!”

Husk disregarded some of the remarks but felt an unusual spike of anger boil in his stomach regarding Angel. Again, why? What a mess. Well, at any rate, at least the kid had enough sense to get the table all wiled up. Look at em’, these idiots, all flared up and dick hard with something to prove. Oh, he could smell it, the insecurity, cause’ now they had to prove something – that they couldn’t get hosed by a prostitute, much less Angel!

And the spider? Well, damn. He _did_ know what he was doing, huh? Psychological warfare was everything here, and if there was one thing the spider was good at it was getting’ people all riled up. Now, these idiots were flustered, givin’ tells all over their faces like a bad painting.

“You’re helping him!” one challenged, glaring at Husk.

“Hah,” he chuckled. “I don’t need to help. I wouldn’t even need to cheat to clean you fucks out.”

Angel snapped his fingers. “Ey! Eyes on the showstopper, baby!”

Husk crossed his arms, wings flapping. He watched Angel while the dealer rolled out the cards and set the river. Immediately, Angel had a strong hand, a queen and a ten. One fella’ raised, everyone called afterward, and the next card came up. A ten! So, Angel now had two pair. Husk _really_ watched Angel now. The spider tilted his head, tapping finger, putting on a show of false tells. He also looked at the others, who – as Husk expected – gave themselves away. Every face was angry, meaning they had nothing for the flop.

Another raise came, but it was bravado. Angel called while two folded. The next card came out, a 3. The river itself was pretty weak save for a king kicker. The last foe remaining grinned, raising. He was desperate, and that was some amateur shit right there. Angel just shrugged.

“Kay bitch, I raise too.”

Now _that_ was the spider fucking with the guy. He could’ve just called, but he was interested in softening the rager this other demon was sportin’. Husk would’ve just called, cheated, and waited, but this could work too.

“FINE!” screamed the other guy, slamming his cards down. Five and a 9. He had a pair of nines.

Angel sneered and flipped em’ off. Ten beats nine, but that was risky.

“Wha. . . you. . . you FUCK!”

Ruination fell upon him, losing by a single number. He stared at Angel in disbelief while his demonic features curled into an expression of unyielding rage.

The guy looked like he was ready to swing, but Husk slammed his hands on the table and hissed. “Hey, asshole, you fuckin’ lost. Take your lumps like a man and piss off.”

There was an estranged hush while the two stared each other down. Even Angel was taken aback, glancing between the two, doing his best to hide a grin. The dealer grunted, however.

“No threats at the table,” he warned. “You’ll be escorted out.”

Said dealer looked at the loser. “No money means you leave the table, sir.”

A flurry of curses escaped the enraged sinner, who pushed away from the table and stomped off. Husk chuckled, crossing his arms with a proud smirk. “Yeah, fuck off.”

Now Angel finally snickered. “Wowee, whiskers, didn’t know ya’ had feeeelin’s. You’ze a regular white knight, barfly.”

Husk growled, ferociously grasping at his “grumpy” persona. “Oh, shut up,” he spat back. “I already told you, nothin’s worse than bad poker players. That guy was just trash needin’ to be thrown out.”

“Cute.”

Husk spat. Fah. He needed a drink. Like, all of them, _now,_ cause’ he wasn’t gonna be able to keep this up for long. Keep what up?

Not gushing like an idiot, was what.

The two descending into the routine of drinking and gambling. Husk knocked em’ back – as did Angel – until they were consumed with nothing but card games and alcohol. In all that beautiful chaos, Husk almost smiled. Almost.

What he did say, however, after Angel drunkenly finished up one last hand of Hold Em’ was thus:

“Think. . . we should. . . get a room. . .”

-*-

Dizzy. Oh that familiar ol’ dizzy. Sorta’ bad, but mostly good. Well, dammit, it was _really_ good now, for reasons Husk didn’t want to admit. Why not, barfly? What were you fighting against so hard right now? Afraid you might like it? Afraid you might _feel?_

Grugh. After the tables and drinks went well (mostly) Angel found it opportunistic to get right scuzzed. And frankly, so did Husk. Granted, that was the cat demon’s typical plan on any given evening, but for this occasion? He needed it. Why? Well, fuck, spider was getting real handsy, and Husk. . . didn’t resist. Cause, the nice thing about this _Pinque Tips_ dump is the makers had the foresight to have “overnight” rooms for guests, cause they figured if they got you all boozed up you’d probably want an easy hangover bed. Or a fuck bed.

Yeah, that part.

Was kinda’ the same song now, wasn’t it? Just like at the Happy Hotel, Husk was swimming in drink, his mind fuzzy, body tingly. Now, Angel was looking all sorts of real good. Devil, that lithe frame and his come-hither swagger. So pretty.

Pretty!? Aw, come off it! He couldn’t be thinking like that! He couldn’t!

. . .why?

. . .

Huh. _Fuck it._

“I take it from yer wobblin’ around ya’ liked my dive, eh whiskers?”

Angel pulled Husk out of his silly pit of self-loathing with that snappy, sultry voice. Those arms – or a pair of them – were around Husk’s hips and it dawned on Husk just how close the spider was. Back to wall, in the empty upper level hallway, nobody around (not like Angel gave a shit, anyway), Angel had him snared, grinning. His white cheeks were flushed and his pink freckles carried a saturation. Probably the booze.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Husk, glancing to the side. Angel pecked his cheek.

“Ya _guess?”_

The winged cat conceded. “Fine, fine, it’s alright, this dump.”

They were both intoxicated, but not like last time. In fact, Husk made it a point not to get so wasted he couldn’t see straight. He wanted to enjoy this, and blacking out on drink would rob him of that.

Angel caressed his sides. “Wanna’ make it _more_ than alright, Husky?”

Husk snorted. “At least let’s get in the goddamn room first.”

Angel blinked, surprised. Surprised because it was _Husk_ saying it. Husk! Not once in the time they “knew” each other had he been so accepting. It was always claws and hisses, drunken swears and middle fingers.

So, into the room they went. Angel was tempted to be all suggestive and imply he get dicked in the hall, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to. He kinda wanted this to be special. Huh. Imagine that!

Said room was nothing elaborate. It was practical, at least by the standards of Pentagram City, anyway. Single room, one bed that was large enough, bathroom, carpet and wallpaper that wasn’t eaten over with hideous mold. It would do. Angel’s standards were typically “the alley that doesn’t stink so bad” so, for him, it was a luxury.

Once in, all pretenses of resistance collapsed. Husk wanted to keep fighting it, but found it so hard. And then he thought to himself: _why?_ Why keep struggling, resisting? Was he so enamored to his misery that any sign of potential affection he turned away? Hah. Yeah. Of fucking course. He chose misery and sadness, wrapped himself in a cloak of it, because if he did, he could protect himself. You couldn’t be hurt anymore if you wore your pain like armor. If you abandoned all hope and shunned affection, you were “safe.” Miserable, alone, isolated, depressed, but “safe.”

You know what? He was kinda’ fucking tired of it.

“Goddamn asshole,” Husk grunted as they entered the room, shutting door. Angel blinked at him.

“Nnhuh?”

Husk ran his hands to those soft, white cheeks, admiring the pink freckles, the mischievous mismatched eyes, the _everything._ “Fucking spider,” Husk continued. “You did this t’me. Pretty and shit.”

Angel quirked a brow, smirking. “Pretty? Bahah, well, listen t’you whiskers! Actin’ all sweet n’shit. Ya’ try-”

He was cut short, Husk pressing mouth into Angel’s soft lips. Angel returned with muffled, surprised yelp. Totally taken aback, because he never expected Husk to make the first move, or _any_ move for that matter! His kiss was hungry, wanting, and his wings flapped, hands going to the spider’s lithe sides, squeezing and caressing. Gnf. Curse you, Angel, curse you to even deeper part of Hell. He made Husk _feel_ again, and his goddamn boozed up brain kept imagining, musing, thinking. Of what? A future? Of he and Angel as an _item?_

. . .yeah.

“Mmmffwhoaa,” Angel murmured, pushing back. Their mouths popped and a thin trail of saliva ran from Angel’s tongue. “H-hang on barfly, ya’ fuckin’. . . hoo, nmm. . . easy baby, easy, we ain’t even in the bed!”

Husk’s chest was hammering like he was running a marathon. His body was hot, searing, like flash fire, filled with unbelievable want. Oh hell it had been so long, and not even his first drunken rendezvous with Angel was like this. The heat was different, intimate, _hotter._ Even Angel looked a brighter shade of pink. His frame craved, he felt his loins start to harden, and his thoughts were consumed with images of being inside this goddamn spider.

He blinked and they were on the bed. Shit, when did that happen? His mind was buzzing and the alcohol wasn’t help – or rather, it _was._ Angel was atop him, grinning his manic, hungry grin, yanking off top as his fluff cleave spilled free. Like Husk, was aroused too, a stiffy popping through his black lace panties. He came to Husk’s forehead, kissing. Then to lips, cheek, neck, chest, smooching, trailing, travelling, running that tongue through fur.

“Hang on,” Husk rasped with a grumble. Angel perked, looking at him.

“Hang on? I’mmabout to get to the best part, whiskers!”

Maybe Husk was drunker than he thought or maybe he was so horny any sensation was like bliss right now. But shit, he didn’t want the usual, he wanted this to feel good, and he also wanted it to _hurt._

“Bite me,” he challenged, staring at the spider. “Fuckin’ bite me, legs. Ain’t my first rodeo.”

Angel licked his teeth. “Ya’ know I tend to oblige, but even I wouldn’t rip ya’ dick like dat.”

“Not talkin about my cock, smartass.”

Angel fluttered his eyes. “Aww, but Husky wusky, I am.”

Despite his jest, however, the spider understood. He instead returned to Husks neck, kissing there, brushing fur with hot breath “Mmmmm, ya’ gonna’ purr for me?”

There was a nibble at first, pointed teeth meeting Husk’s neck flesh in a gentle nip. It stung a bit, but only tickled Husk with a small sensation. “C’mon kid,” Husk challenged. “Harder!”

“Damn, baby, ya’ wanna bleed, huh?”

Husk snorted. “Ain’t a party until someone’s red.”

Yeah, he wanted that, he wanted that spider to mark him, bleed him, taste him. Maybe it was because of how long it’d been, or maybe it was the ol’ cat in him. Primal, this whole thing. When you claimed your mate, you bit into them, and you told them in that fucked up little show of mini-violence “you’re mine!”

Guess he wanted Angel to be his. Guess he wanted to _belong_ to the spider.

“Heh, you’ze fucked up, Husky,” cooed Angel. “I _like_ it.”

Was he? Feh, guess so. If this was the price, then so be it. He’d seen worse, he’d done worse, he’d felt worse.

Well, what with “permission” and all, Angel took the opportunity to act like a spider. In other words, bite _hard._ He did as requested and sank those fangs into Husk’s flesh, where the hot sting was swiftly followed by the rush of scarlet, racing down Husk’s now-matted fur. Husk grunted, hissed, swore through clenched teeth, grasping the sheets, but only to signify he loved it.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Husk spat, leaning his neck to the side as Angel murmured with approval. The spider smacked his lips, pushing up and wiping his mouth where thin rivers of red rushed over his lips.

“Ya’ ‘bout to go fer a trip, Husky, pack ya’ bags!”

Husk looked to Angel, unclear. “I’mma spider, smartass? ‘Member? Venom?”

“What!?”

Angel waved a hand. “Aww, don’t get all panicky, babe, ain’t gonna hurt, just gonna’ start feelin’ reaaaal good.”

At first Husk thought he was being fucked with, as usual. But, like a slow high, it hit him. The ringing buzz of hot pain in his neck coincided with the flood of. . . whatever this was. Oh, fuck. It was _another_ buzz, but it went through all of him. Every heartbeat drove the venom further into his body, making him dizzy. More lustful. More fuckin’ randy than seven cats in heat.

“Awwshiiit,” he slurred, where Angel snickered in response.

“Bahaha! Told ya.”

Yeah, damn, he wasn’t kidding. Whatever Angel’s venom did it was a mixture of hard booze and aphrodisiac. Or felt like it. Shit. Husk hadn’t been so _wanting_ since, well, whenever the last time he was. Maybe he when he was a hormone addled teen.

Enough that _Husk_ decided to turn the tables. In a smooth yet rough motion, he yanked Angel by the shoulder, pushing him into the bed. The spider was on back, yelping, taken by surprise. Not _unpleasant_ though. He looked up at the notably more aggressive Husk, fluttering his eyes. “Ooooh, kitty, what’cha gonna’ do to me?”

Husk growled. “Better question. What ain’t I gonna’ do?”

Angel granted an approving moan. “That’s what I wanna’ hear baby!”

Truth be told, It’d been such a spell since Husk did something creative with his dick, so he wasn’t rightly sure what kind of sexual arsenal he had these days. What he did know, though, was his urge to bite and fuck had gone from 10 to 11 thanks to whatever the hell Angel just did.

He was so eager to dip right into that hot hole, peeling off Angel’s panties, but even in his slurred, buzzed state he knew going in dry was literally the worst possible idea. At any rate, he was hungry for something else. He kissed Angel once more, muffling any potential quip the spider might have, wanting smacks erupting between the two, filling the room with a chorus of their coupling. In a way, the spider tasted sweet (or maybe that was the venom and adrenaline and shit rushing to Husk’s head). He smelled good, scented with a perfume which masked a scent hidden deep within that spidery fluff. But Husk could smell it, drink it in. Hey, there _were_ advantages to being a cat demon in Hell after all.

“Nnnnf. . .”

Angel’s little moans, muffled or otherwise, spurred the cat on. Devil, he was hungry, hands rolling over the spider’s lithe form, touching and clenching his back, clawing, possessive. Then, it was _his_ turn. He bit Angel, finding a soft spot on the neck to run his teeth into. Angel hissed, gasping aloud as Husk clenched hard and drew blood, licking and savoring the flavor of. . . well, not crimson. This was hot pink. Appropriate.

The taste was not like blood, not the typical salt and copper. It was, frankly, not a flavor Husk could reasonably pin down, not that he was trying to. Colors were shifting, sensations were rising. Angel looked good, like he was saturated, and every touch was so much better. Devil below, Husk’s cock was _hurting_ at this point.

Like a wicked cocktail, their blood mingled, puddling into a stain on the sheets as Husk kept his frame pressed atop the spider, wild and dizzy. His wings flexed, curling around their coupling, feeling his flank spill free, hard and dribbling with presex. Yeah, all right, the booze from before, all the smoldering emotions, the hidden feelings, they were coming to a head (literally).

“Goddamn,” Husk grunted. “Fuckin’ prettyboy.”

He meant that in kind, and Angel understood. Probably. In the meantime, Husk’s thorny pike started to prod at Angel’s tender pucker, where the spider shushed and pushed him back.

“Hangonhangonhangon,” he said, “Don’t fuck me just yet handsome, gonna’ rip me n’half with dat howitzer. . .”

Angel’s hand sprinted to the side, grabbing his pursing, quickly fishing out a travel sized bottle of lubricant. Ah, right. Husk was unfamiliar, to the point he was rather embarrassed. C’mon, old man, you remember how to bone, right? Lost in thoughts, Angel squeezed a dollop of lubricant around Husk’s flank, gripping and massaging into the spiky pink flesh.

“Ohhshit,” Angel slurred, “Got a real killer down there, eh?”

Must’ve meant the tiny spikes on Husk’s length. True to his cat nature – or demonic – he wasn’t sportin’ any old piece. He could make it _hurt,_ were he so inclined. But he wouldn’t Not with Angel.

The motions sent waves of warm, electric heat through Husk’s loins while Angel purred with approval. “Mmm, ya’ like m’hands workin’ over ya big dick, whiskers?”

“Shut up and hurry,” Husk commanded, because Devil he had to get in that fucking spider, _now._

Angel didn’t have a clever response, just more coaxing, getting Husk’s inches niiiice and slick. Perfectly so. Once he was finished, Husk’s envenomed, drunken eyes wobbled down to see where his cock was, lining it up with Angel’s spiderhole. Once the tip nudged the perky ring, Angel hissed in anticipation, eagerly awaiting the desired Husk to shove right into him. Those lithe legs wrapped around the cat’s frame while he was enshrouded by wings. Damn – Angel had to wonder if Husk could fuck em’ while flying?

No time to think. “NNNF!”

Husk buried his inches into the spider, rudely hammering into the awaiting, snug tunnel. Husk pressed all the way, but slowly. If he could recall at least one thing, ain’t no reason to be in a hurry. Only youngins got their business done in a few minutes. No, he made his thrust stead, practiced, slow. His tip quivered from hot, electric pleasure where he twitched inside the moaning spider, shivering.

“Ohhhshiiiitbaby, yes, nnn. . .” Angel said, slurring his words, the kind of things you say when you’re so overwhelmed with physical bliss your whole sense of being just _melts._ Heat increased, searing, the beat of hearts mixing together.

Husk huffed as his hips did the instinctive, rolling with slow, deep thrusts, nice and steady. His spiky nubs were slick enough they caused no pain, but added an extra layer of intensifying pleasure for Angel. Every stroke and thrust incurred greater moans, elevating, forcing rasping breaths from the spider.

“Mmnnn, Husk,” Angel whispered.

Urrrgh, hell yes. As much as Husk hated to admit to himself, he also loved hearing his name leaving Angel’s mouth like that. Like he was the one for the spider and no one else. Fuck all those other shitheads who treated him bad, they didn’t deserve Angel!

It was enough it encouraged him to bite again, this time on the other side of Angel’s neck. The spider released a surprised gasp while fangs sank into soft flesh, drawing more blood. The effeminate demon shivered, hands grabbing Husk’s back and clenching hard, ruffling fingers through feathers as Husk continued to slowly throw himself into the suckling tunnel.

No need to rush. Every swing of hips only heightened the bliss, allow both parties to feel every single inch and motion involved. Perhaps, another time, when Husk wasn’t so stir crazy drunk he’d try something more _elegant,_ but for now this would do just fine.

The taste of blood drove Husk on, stroking his hips in smooth, guided motions. The world faded into a dizzy, unimportant blur. Suddenly, he and Angel weren’t in Pentagram City anymore. Now they were in an oasis, the island of each other, a brief escape from literal Hell. Sure, they needed a bit more to communicate on that wasn’t just getting drunk and fucking, but that could be for later.

. . .so, there was a later?

Husk was a little too lost himself and fucking Angel to ponder that. But, yeah, he conceded there’d be a later. Somehow.

“OHFUCKHUSK!”

Despite the steady, downright tedious rhythm Husk maintained, it was more than enough to get the spider to peak. Because every piston grind was methodic, practiced, careful. Too fast and you obliterated any sensation at all. This? Just right. Massaging that pucker and prostate nicely, forcing Angel’s cock to life as it twitched and sputtered, much like the feline. Once Angel peaked, his inches shivered to life and a trail of issue splattered against Husk’s stomach, matting fur. And then he bit, again, finding an exposed spot and sinking those spider fangs into the winged-feline.

He released, and more crimson dribbled from Husk as he continued pounding into the tunnel. Oh, he was eager to return the favor.

“MINE!” he roared, biting Angel, outright pinning him down as his hips finished for him. The resulting motions sent his loins into overdrive before it quivered and exploded with white hot issue, filling Angel to the brim with seed. Both shuddered and buckle, that abrupt orgasm of sheer physical intensity overtaking them, almost painful. Husk dug his teeth and claws in like a cat claiming its mate, purring in a masculine sort of way (if that was possible).

The rush, combined with venom, alcohol, and horny adrenalin was enough to cause Husk to collapse, panting into the spider. Fuck, that was intense. Or. . . maybe he was just old. Probably that.

Angel did the same, fingers running across Husk’s back. “Neheh, asshole,” he chided. “Bit me twice.”

“I’ll do more,” Husk wheezed, “If ya don’t shut up. . .”

A chuckle. “Love ya’ too whiskers.”

-*-

Husk brushed a damp clothing along Angel’s neck, wiping away any dried blood, cleaning it, before applying a dollop of meds and a bandage. Damn, guess he went hard.

The two were sitting on bed’s edge, TV playing some static-laced mess in the background as they tended to the other’s “injuries.” Angel gave the winged feline a once over, licking his thumb and gently running it across the various places he’d broken Husk’s skin.

“How ya’ feelin’, Husky?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted. “Takes more than that to bother me.”

Angel chuckled. “Whatever ya’ say.” He applied a bandage, kissing.

“Mwah. All better.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Husk groused. He paused, then, glanced at Angel. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Angel pulled out his flip mirror, looking himself over, especially at the marks. “I mean it,” he continued. “Chuck and the gang gonna’ get all inquisitive like if we give em’ the dirty deets, ya’ know?”

Husk rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

Tell them what, Husk? That you fucked Angel again? Big deal. They’d figure that. Or, was it something else, something you didn’t want to admit out loud but knew – deep in your rotten heart – that it was there. That you liked Angel Dust. That you _cared_ about Angel Dust, more than you let on.

Husk coughed, shoving the thought aside. “Speakin of, maybe we should get movin.”

“Pffft,” Angel challenged. “Fuck dat. M’hungry. Ya’ want somethin’ to eat?”

Hmm. All Husk had was alcohol and, well, spider.

“. . .fine.”

Angel clapped his hands together before dialing room service, giving Husk a moment to think. What the hell was _this?_ Eating a meal with Angel, like they were a thing? An item? A _couple?_

Holy shit.


	3. Alcohol Just Ain't Enough - III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Husk gets some cash from a shadowy source and takes Angel somewhere nice.

**III**

“Hey de’re, Huskalicious.”

A low, aggravated growl. A frown stretching features. A glance to the side and what appeared to be the hint of blushing cheeks.

“Goddammit, legs, not out here,” grumbled one Husk, minding his bar while one salacious spider – Angel Dust – gave him the ol’ regular, AKA a wink and a smirk.

“Pfft, why not Husky wusky?” cooed the spider, plopping his chin on gloved fist, tilting head to the side. “Ya’ love it.”

Urgh. Ugh. UGH.

So. Yeah. The shitty thing? Husk did, actually. Husk liked this ever since their little “escapade” some weeks back. The nicknames, the winks, the _touches._ Things changed. There was, devil help him, a _connection._ Husk’s fondness for Angel blossomed into a sensation some might call “intimate,” and conspirators could go so far as to claim he had a thing for Angel. Crazy nonsense, obviously, crazy nonsense of all of it.

Crazy nonsense that was true. Didn’t mean Husk had to wear on his person like a fucking necktie!

“Cause I like my whisky with the goddamn cap on,” groused Husk, not looking at Angel. “Ya’ get me?”

Angel Dust snorted. “What, you _embarrassed_ of me? Little late for dat, ain’t it? You balls deep, honey.”

Husk’s ears flicked. He looked around, a vague impression of concern taking him. This was all really, _really_ new, and he wasn’t sure he wanted the Miss to be abreast of all this. And fuck, if NIffty found out? Oh the little firecracker would pop off and everyone this Side of the city would know! And by the knickers of Christ, _Alastor?_ No, just no. He didn’t need all those problems or humiliations.

He looked at Angel. _Really_ looked. Saw those lovely, wide mismatched eyes, the gentle splash of pink spots running through his carefully swept hair fluff, the freckles, the gold tooth, the suggestive cleavage-generous attire, the hint of perfume lingering on his frame. . . and. .

The real reason? He wanted to protect _this._ The spider, the relationship, this. . . whatever the fuck they had. Why? Why did he care? He promised himself he’d never get all loopy for a lass or a fella ever again, yet here he was, knockin’ boots with a whore. Worse, _feeling_ things for a nightboy. But fucking shit, he wanted that, to feel it, to own it, for Angel to be his and nobody else’s. Despite his occupation, despite his past, despite everything. It was the first time in some eternity Husk felt anything besides an endless bogpit of alcoholic despair.

Because he wanted to protect Angel, then, he wasn’t cozy on the idea of their tit-and-tat becoming widespread knowledge. There were. . . troubling things out there.

“Only behind closed doors,” gruffed Husk. “Get it?”

Angel frowned, shrugging. “No. The hell you gettin’ all huffy for?”

Husk was also really bad at everything relationship wise. He’d fucked it up before, he could do it again.

“Look, it’s just. . .” Husk trailed off, losing the words. In fact, he didn’t have them at all.

Angel looked unimpressed, opening his mouth to speak. He was cut off, however, by a buzz. He grumbled and flicked out his Hellphone from purse, staring at its screen. He trailed over it, face crinkling with aggravation, then groaned.

“Ugh.”

Husk flinched inwardly. He knew what that phone was for. He also had a damn good idea who was texting him.

“Things all right?” Husk asked, stiff.

Obviously, no. Angel jammed his thumbs into the screen, ignoring Husk, responding. This went on for a few moments, until he swore under his breath and stowed it back away.

“Guess m’workin’ a late shift,” said Angel. He looked back to Husk. “Set me up, whiskers, s’gonna be a long one.”

Husk didn’t move. Well. He _knew_ what meant. A bitter thought planted itself firmly in his mind, and Husk did his best to push aside all the implications: Angel getting railed by a bunch of anonymous cocks how had as much care for him as a cumrag.

“That so?” he offered, as though he might stall this.

“Yup,” Angel said, flat, already resigned to his work. “So, y’know, Husky, get me that good shit, might as well go in a little buzzed.”

Husk remained still. Was there no way around this? God, and why did this all bother him _now?_ He knew what Angel did for a long, long time. Never got to him before. Whatever. Spider could fuck who he wanted, right? And yet, it wasn’t because Angel wanted to. . . right? He was leashed by someone, forced to fuck for cash just to make end’s meet. And all of em’, all those eyes and fellas and vagrant dicks didn’t give a damn about the spider, he meant nothing to them. _That_ boiled the cat over the most, just the total and absolute disregard.

Or, maybe he was just concocting this fantasy in his head. He didn’t know, not really. Not like he’d been with Angel before on one of these runs.

He must’ve been making eyes at the wall, because Angel waved at him. “Uhh, hello? Make with th’drinky drink, whiskers, ain’t got time to fuck around. On the clock.”

At once, Angel’s demeanor shifted, from flirty arm candy to, well, working girl. There was nothing Husk could do. “Fine.”

Quietly he whipped something up, passed it to Angel, and the spider knocked it back. Then a couple more. “Thanks,” said Angel, voice a bit more slurred and sullen.

“See ya’ tonight.”

Husk had to watch the spider swagger off in service of deeds he hated, and it ate at him. A pain that wasn’t worth it. So, he drowned himself in his own booze, returning to his dour, frustrated state.

Was this how it was gonna’ be? He couldn’t fucking handle that, he really couldn’t. Call him traditional, but knowing your significant was getting banged in back alleys didn’t put him at ease. Husk just had to ignore all that? _Ignore_ Valentino and the presence that fucking pimp had in Angel’s life?

Turn back now, Husk said to himself, this is a path you know. Turn back now and save yourself. It’s not worth it. It’s never worth it. Why is it worth it now!?

“Because,” Husk said to no one save for the shadows in the foyer.

Because Angel.

He blinked, looking around, staring at the dark corners around him. Dark corners that, at times, resembled the shape of people.

. . .people?

A maybe not-so-great idea entered his head.

-*-

Money. It always came down to money. If Husk had money, he could take care of Angel. If Angel had money, he wouldn’t need Valentino.

But, Husk _didn’t_ have that kind of cash, and the last time he was on the tables, he was outed as a known cheat. Getting back in the arena, especially with Alastor putting him on the ol’ leash, wasn’t an option. And besides, even if by some miracle it was, the Miss would never approve. So, what then? Concede to this fake relationship with Angel where for a day he could pretend they were an item and then Angel would go back to bangin’ dudes?

No.

No he was gonna’ do something about that. Something pretty stupid.

Husk knew deals. He knew them with the cards, he knew them Alastor. He also knew you could get. . . loans. Loans from things and people you maybe shouldn’t.

But some stupid, dumb feeling blossomed in his chest. A feeling for Angel, one that Husk hated and wanted so much, to the point he’d do what every stupid young buck would do: _anything._

Husk peered down the alley, into the dark, into the shadows. And the shadows stared right back. The winged demon’s hackles flared as he glanced behind him, the noise of Pentagram City intermixed with the eerie calm of the alley. He was far out from the Hotel, and he didn’t let anyone know he’d be out – not like he intended to for long.

He took a step forward. “Hello?”

No response, save for the gentle, cold rhythm of breathing. Husk growled. “Hey, pal, don’t try n’fuck with me. I ain’t falling for no ambush, you hear me? Step out so I can see you.”

Again, no response. Man, was Husk about to get peeled? Even for him, this was fucking insane. Taking a loan from . . . well, it wasn’t clear who. You just asked around and he appeared.

Then, footsteps. From the dark, a silhouette fashioned itself into view, as dark as sin, devouring the light around it. He or it or whatever was near impossible to get solid look at, and were it not for the general light of the city, Husk would never have known the thing was there. The only indication there _was_ a figure came from the unblinking pair of eyes that flickered like pits of fire.

A shadow dressed as a man stepped out, a long suit cloaking his frame and while a wide brim hat hid its face, if it had one. It neared Husk, carrying a case. Then, it set the case down, wordless.

Which was, by all accounts, supposed to be full of money. Husk was brokering a deal with a thing he didn’t know or really understand. He didn’t care, though. This was for Angel.

When you asked the shadows for help, you got an answer. What Husk was giving up, he didn’t know. He didn’t know the price. But he was willing to risk it, go all in, for Angel Dust. God he was so stupid.

He looked at the case, hesitating. “This is all of it?” Husk asked the shadow. It didn’t respond, just stared.

So, Husk took it, noting the _weight._ Once he did, the shadow offered a small tip of the hat, turning. Quietly, it vanished back into the dark until the echoes of its breath were no longer audible. Husk had a made a deal, and perhaps the worst kind: he had no idea what he was giving _up._ Experience, though, told him it was a favor.

Whatever. _Whatever._ When the time came, he’d deal with it, like he always did. He had what he needed. But, to double check, Husk snapped the suitcase open and his eyes dilated. Oh fuck me running, honey. Stacks and stacks and stacks of clean, crispy bills, overwhelming him with that scent of disgusting, beautiful inky green paper. He near drooled.

This was it. This was how he’d keep the spider. He’d be Angel’s client, solo. As long as the spider was paid, he didn’t have to bed anonymous jackoffs.

He pushed aside the notion of what happened when the money ran out.

-*-

Husk looked over his reflection. Was this too much? Fuck, it was so obvious he was putting on airs, wasn’t it? A button shirt with sleek overalls and form fitting black pants? Ugh. Everyone would know he was up to something.

“So _what,”_ he growled to nobody. “Ain’t like they matter.”

Guess that was true. This whole getup was for one person only, or rather, spider. Today, things were changing.

Few days after he brokered his bargain with that spook, Husk settled on taking Angel out. Taking him somewhere that was far from here, at least in the sense the spider could forget everything. Forget the Hotel, what he did, who he worked for, all of it.

And? What then? Husk rode up in his shining arm and whisked Angel away from everything? Bah. That was so stupid, so juvenile, so profoundly idiotic, so _romantic._

Naturally he’d do it.

At the very goddamn least, Husk had a “right” to Angel’s company with the extra cash. At the _least,_ he could just get Angel away from it all, whether it was real or not. At the fucking _least._ He’d take that over Pentagram City’s cruel reality any day. As such, Husk fished out the briefcase from before – under his bed – and thumbed through a stack of bills. There was plenty there from a single mark and enough to afford a few nights at a rizty dig, if the occasion called. All he had to do was make it last.

He stowed the bills in his shirt, hid the case, then checked himself over one last time. He flapped his wings and picked at his busy eyebrows. He looked. . . okay? Did he? He tried smiling, and it threatened to fracture the mirror like a discount Picasso painting.

“Feh.”

Good enough.

Husk departed his room and made way to Angel. The sultry spider was downstairs in one of the living rooms, post-Charlie therapy session. He wasn’t keeping too many tabs on that, but, considering their “relationship,” maybe he should? Embarrassed he was to admit, in fact, he didn’t know _what._ How did this all work, again? God almighty it had been a time since his last ball-and-chain, and he drowned most of that out with booze.

Maybe. . . thinking about your significant as a “ball and chain” was a bad way to start.

Regardless, said spider was indeed in the living arrangement, lithe legs crossed. He appeared non plussed, one of his gloves removed while he polished a set of nails, here and there glancing at them, wiggling digits. At his side, on the couch, was the tiny hog, his pet pig. Fat. . . something. Fat? Great name.

At the winged demon’s approach, said hog stood, ears perking, noting the arrival of a stranger. Angel gave him a comforting pat but didn’t look away from his nails. “I told you’ze Chuck, I’ll be around for eats later. N’fact maybe I’ll just get the goaties to gimme room service. . .”

“Ain’t the Miss,” Husk intoned, crossing arms. The spider shifted at the realization it wasn’t Charlie.

Angel perked, looking. “Ooh, sup grumpy.”

The spider’s eyes widened as he drank in Husk’s attire, giving him a steady once over. It was hard to catch, but his white fluff cheeks went a mild hint of rosy pink.

“Wow, look at you,” continued Angel. “Nice threads. What’s the occasion? Drinkin’ yerself stupid in style tonight?”

Husk didn’t respond at once. In fact, his words caught in his throat, because in this moment he realized _he_ was the one approaching the spider, literally and figuratively. His mind wandered back to his boyish, inexperienced days, chasin’ after a pair of gams after he was a few bottles under. You know, like an inexperienced idiot. He was nervous.

Nervous!? Fucking why? It was only Angel.

_That’s right. It’s only Angel._

Angel Dust – the adult star, wearing his reputation and persona like a ring, a gravity of personality. You wanted to be with him or around him. And who was Husk? Some washup cheat doing favors for fuckin’ Alastor cause he made one too many bad deals. A depressed alcoholic scuttling from one binge to the next, hoping to blackout more than he stayed conscious. God. He wasn’t drunk enough for this.

“Not exactly,” Husk said, finding himself.

Angel waited. When Husk didn’t say anything, the spider looked around. “Uhhh. Kay?”

Fat Nuggets oinked and Angel gave him a shower of pets and attention. “Yeh, uh, not t’be a bitch but like, can ya’ scram Husk? I like the look but I’m doin’ m’nails.”

Husk did the best he could with that. “How ‘bout I get someone to do them for ya’?”

Okay, that wasn’t exactly the romantic zinger he thought it’d be. Angel gawked. “Huh?”

Husk rubbed his face. Try again, old boy, try again.

“No, I mean like, I’ll pay someone so you can get your fingers done or whatever cause that’d be nice or some shit.”

Angel gave a slow blink, chuckling. “Uh. . . huh. Well. Er. Dat’s real generous of ya’ Huskalicious but I ain’t trustin’ no bitch with my beauties. Thanks though.”

So Husk was striking out. “I’m trying to take you out, smartass!”

A pregnant pause filled the air. Nuggets wiggled his curly tail, staring at Husk and then his caretaker. Angel, in the meantime, allowed a thin smile to pull at his features until it widened to a grin.

“Bahaha. Hahaha! You’ze serious?”

Husk frowned. “Of fuckin’ course I am.”

Angel wobbled with laughs, his legs wiggling. “Dahahah! Well, well, well fuckin’ well! Look who finally tossed on a pair and found his nuts! Nyeaha, took ya’ long enough.”

Husk grunted.

When the spider finished laughing, he gave a little sigh, easing back into the couch. “But, hate to break it to ya’, whiskers, ya’ know I’m on the clock. Ain’t really got the time, so, hafta’ raincheck and dat shit. Sorry.”

Here, at least, it was Husk’s turn to smile (or smirk). “That so?” he challenged.

“Last time I checked, yeah, it be so.”

“And what happens if _I’m_ the job?” said Husk, feeling his creativity here.

Angel squinted, as though Husk had reorganized his body into a bizarre painting. “Okay, Husk, what’ da’ fuck are you talkin’ about? Did ya’ hit the sauce too hard? Go get Chuck, I ain’t doin’ a hangover happy endin’ right now.”

Husk shook his head, waving a hand. “No, no, no, legs, listen. Ain’t like that. Look, what If I was. . . I mean ya’ know you’ve got a job to do and. . . but I got. . .”

Oh for fuck’s sake, just show him. Grumbling, Husk fished through his suit pocket and yanked out a healthy stack of bills, crisp and unusually clean given their origin. He tossed the bills triumphantly upon the table before Angel, letting the wealth speak for him. In a sense, he may as well have grown a second head.

Angel’s eyes widened, mismatched saucers gazing at the bills with stunned disbelief. In fact, a trail of drool rivered from his lips, his frame frozen. “. . .what. . .”

Husk was pleased. “Yeah.”

The spider’s gaze flicked from the bills to Husk, processing. “Whoa, wha. . . how. . . when da’fuck did ya’ get scratch like dis!?”

Husk shrugged, ignoring the memory of the shadowy man. “Does it matter?”

“Well YEAH! Ain’t Chuck gonna’ get all suspicious-like if she finds ya’ with. . . holy shit is that a fuckin’ G!?”

Given the spider’s experience, he could recognize a hard thousand just by looking. Husk frowned. “Hey, hey, keep it down! Ain’t nobody gotta’ know except you and me. Don’t go blabberin, legs!”

Surprised faded from Angel, now replaced by an air of mischief. He smiled. “. . .a secret? Bwahah. Well now, Husky wusky, ain’t you a skeeve? I _like dat.”_

Husk said nothing. Angel, though, crossed his legs, patting Nuggets as he dawned the aura of escort-for-hire. “So, I don’t figure ya’ for the sweet’n generous type. Ya’ tryin’ to hire me, is dat it, eh? Want a little boytoy? Some pretty arm candy? Aww, babe, I knew ya’ _cared.”_

In a sense, Husk didn’t like the idea their relationship was framed only as that. “Look, legs. Angel.”

He rubbed his head. “This ain’t some extra scratch you can pocket. This is. . . this is you and me, get it?”

Angel tilted his head.

“Nobody else, understand? No other guys. No other random johns. I pay you, you’re with me. No bullshit on the streets! That’s what the money is for.”

Another pause filled the room save for the indelicate click of a wall-mounted clock. Angel’s pleased expression vanished, replaced instead by a thoughtful, pensive stare. He rolled over Husk’s words in his mind, realizing their implication.

“Ya’ sayin. . . ya’ want this exclusive?”

It was less so a question and more that _Angel_ wanted to process it.

Husk sighed. “Ergh, why’s this so hard. I. . . look, I know what the deal is, all right?”

Angel said nothing while the winged sinner continued.

“I know you got. . . obligations. I know you got people you gotta’ pay. So what if I’m takin’ care of that?”

Now Angel grinned. “You’ze sayin’ what if yer m’sugar daddy.”

Husk made a face. “Ugh.”

Angel looked at the small bill stack, reaching over. He picked it with gentle force and rolled a thumb through it, counting them out with a hooker’s experienced touch. Then, Angel sighed, setting the bills back down. “Hmm.”

Could he make it work? Yes, easily. This was a lot. More than a lot. Could get him pretty far time wise, keep one major asshole – Valentino – off his back, if at least for a while. Question was, did he want to?

He eyed Husk, took him in differently now. Looked at him from the perspective of a guy he’d be loyal to. Loyal? Haha, what a strange, odd word. Was it really loyalty if Husk was paying him? And beyond that, what kind of feelings was Angel harboring? He figured it was just the usual lust. Husk was an old handsome grump that was extra cute when he was drunk. Was there more?

Did they have something beyond that?

. . .Angel wanted them to, he decided.

“Yeah,” Angel finally said. “Yeah. Kay.”

Husk’s ears perked and his eyes brightened, if only a little. “Yeah what?”

A shrug. “M’sayin, smart ass, that sounds good t’me. Ya’ keep rollin’ these G’s my way and I think we got a deal.”

On hearing this, Husk leaned. “You’re serious? Don’t fuck with me on this, legs. Nobody else, no other guys. I don’t want this if I can’t. . . if it’s not just me and you.”

Angel was tempted to snark and wave his hand and ‘yeahyeah’ a flippant response. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to. Husk was really hard up about this? Dead serious, real genuine.

“I promise,” said Angel, sweeter than usual.

A wave of relief crashed over Husk. This was happening then, was it?

Well _shit._

-*-

This was all. . . something else. Strange, new, kinda weird, but weird in the good way.

Husk felt the warm gravity of one Angel Dust right next to him, lithe arms wrapped around his own, scent of perfume drifting from Angel’s fluff mingling with the cat’s own scent. Pockets loaded, night out on the city, looking for a good time. But _not_ as a guard to Angel’s shenanigans, not a pair of eyes to watch the spider degrade himself.

This time, it wasn’t about getting so scuzzed Husk couldn’t see straight. Now, he was with Angel, for real. It was a thought that both comforted and terrified him. Now, the onus of being a good “guy” for Angel was back on his shoulders, along with all the baggage and questions associated with it. Was Husk even. . . capable of all this? The “boyfriend” thing. Christ on a cross, when’s the last time that was even a thing? In the blurry background of his memories there was a younger, handsome tom, but it was so long ago may as well have been fiction.

 _Just do it like you play the river,_ Husk told himself. _Bluff. Fake it til’ you make it then win the pot._

That was perhaps not the best kind of relationship advice to work with but, whatever. Angel, at least, was pretty forgiving. Reassuring, even. He really knew how to work a room and be “company.” Guess he had shitloads of practice.

“Ain’t never been in no digs like dis,” commented the spider as the two strolled through a wide, indoor gala. They were, indeed, far from home.

Maybe Husk went a little overboard tonight, but fuck it (literally). There were clubs and diners and all sortsa’ shit you could do, but this outing was on the more fantastical side. For VIP guests (or those with enough financial scratch), one could nab themselves a fancy room on a fancy, uh, blimp? Well, the best way to put it was a floating airship. Not too dissimilar from what that snake fella’ roamed around it, save this thing, the “Maxa” something, was larger and aimed at luxury entertainment.

“Yeah,” said Husk as the two wandered through the beautiful interiors. It was a hodgepodge of entertainment, though geared toward the usual sins: gambling, floor shows, bars, theater (with actual death), and so on. It was kinda like someone took a fancy hotel and put in the air. Good enough for Husk.

“You like it?” said Husk, uncertain.

Angel smirked, in a dress, hair done up while he gave the feline a reassuring squeeze. “I ain’t picky, whiskers.”

A pause. Then: “But I tell ya, stiffs don’t treat me dis’ good. Ya’ spoilin’ me, baby!”

Husk gave a satisfied chuckle. “You deserve it.”

Then, he coughed. What? Did he really say that!? No, come on, don’t get all soppy now, it ain’t like that! Reel it back, you’re showing your hand!

Angel said nothing, save pressed lips to the cat’s cheek for a quick kiss. “Ya’ keep this up then we’ze goin’ around the world.”

Husk stifled a blush as the two pursued what the Max had to offer. As it turned out, _too much._ One could get lost on the floating thing. In fact, parsing together some conversations, it sounded like demons of more affluent nature _did._ Guess it was a good escape plan. . .

In the meantime, Husk was an old fashioned kinda’ guy. Dinner and a show, that type of thing. Nothing to get complicated with, right? So he took Angel somewhere and they chowed on food that was, for lack of better word, real. As in imported straight from the Up There. Husk fancied himself a rare New York steak and were it not for his date he might’ve jazzed in his pants from the taste alone.

Angel’s meal, a pasta with a freshly made tomato sauce using sauteed veggies, let off an orgasmic moan. “Mmmffuckin’ shit,” he said, messily munching from his plate.

Husk tried not to laugh.

“Goddamn,” continued the spider. “Usually it’s just a blowie and a sodie to watch out da’ taste! Unf!”

It pleased Husk to see Angel Dust so, well, pleased.

“Kill me now babe, m’ready, I could die now!”

Through dinner Husk did okay, managing a light discourse, which surprised even himself. He tried not to get too personal though gently inquired about Angel’s progress in the Hotel, how he was feeling lately.

“M’okay,” Angel would say, a tone of sincerity overtaking him. “Ain’t easy. Like, I get up and I still want shit. Usually gotta’ irish m’coffee up or somethin’. Get a toke goin’. If I’m feelin’ real nice ain’t gotta do a line or nothin’, but, it’s hit and miss.”

Husk nodded as the spider went on.

“Ya’ know like, some days I think m’over my problems. Next think I know m’takin a baby bump, tryin’ to tell m’self it ain’t that bad and I’m on the way out. Egh.”

“Never gonna’ be easy,” Husk encouraged. “But you managed this far. Most fillies don’t even bother.”

Angel chuckled and sneered. “Well, most fillies ain’t me.”

Husk smiled and they finished their meal, talking a bit more. Next came a show, but things were _shifting._ During the stage performance where a rabbit demon strolled fingers over a piano accompanied by dancers, Husk felt Angel’s soft palm race over his thigh. Angel didn’t look, nonchalantly watching the show while his fishing fingers roamed around Husk’s groin, gripping at the shape of his softened shaft, forcing the winged sinner to grunt.

“H-hey. . .”

“Shh,” challenged Angel. “M’watchin’ a show here.”

Oh that little sneaky spider! Think he could pull a fast one on ol’ Husk, did he!?

. . .yes.

And for the first time, Husk wasn’t drunk, entirely conscious of the exploring fingers groping and squeezing at his length, which tightened to life. He wondered if someone might catch them, then he mentally countered with “so what?” Instead, Husk’s tail lashed about while Angel teased him, stroking and massaging with palm though never quite intensifying, never going “all the way.” It was both wonderful and terrible, because it satisfied, but _not enough._ Kinda like having your cock right in front of the mouth but said mouth just wouldn’t _open._

The smug, self-satisfied spider leaned to the side, casual as could be, chuckling as his efforts were rewarded with Husk’s ever-growing length. Husk’s cheeks went hot and suddenly everything around him, aside from Angel Dust, was an agitation. Gagh, couldn’t all the crowds and people just scram? He wasn’t so keen on public antics, not like Angel. Besides, if they were gonna do something, it was supposed to be alone. He wasn’t sharing the spider anymore. He _wanted_ to be greedy, because that meant he could protect him from all the ills of Pentagram City.

So he hoped.

“Oooo,” Angel cooed, squeezing at Husk’s stiffness. “Dat fer me?”

“Will you knock it off!” Husk hissed back as the stage demon started another sordid performance.

Angel seemed to ignore Husk, tossing a smirk. “Didn’t think ya’ could get so hard, whiskers.”

Husk grumbled, pushing back in his seat. Ergh. It _did_ feel good. Every touch and stroke, mild as it was, sent a flurry of heightened physical bliss running through his loins. Admittedly, the thrill of getting caught added something to the experience. But still, Husk _would not share,_ and despite things, he wanted to wait.

“Save it for the room,” he growled, defiant.

Angel giggled in his dark way. “Oh, you’ze about to pop like a wine bottle, eh?”

Mercifully, his sneaky spider hand receded and he continued to “watch” the show, but he knew his work had only just begun. Husk sighed a temporary huff of relief, though now he was all het up. It was hard to focus on, well, _anything_ aside from the spider next to him, not to mention the idea of what they could be doing. . .

When the rabbit demon on stage abruptly “magicked” away his tight suit into a revealing lace attire, Husk coughed up, only imagining Angel in a similar outfit. Alright, enough of this.

“Let’s find a room,” he rasped to Angel, squeezing the spider’s hand. Angel blushed and gave a surprised “oo,” even he didn’t expect the drunk to get randy so quickly. Not that he was complaining now.

Didn’t waste any time, the two. Angel, with unusual politeness, excused himself with Husk as the two left the atrium and exited to the hall. Husk did his best to hide the laboring tightness in his pants, but Angel’s proximity didn’t help. Ugh, he felt so good to be around, smelled so nice, sounded great, _everything._

Finding the room didn’t take long. Or did it? Hard to tell, the motions preceding it were a blur. The teller, the forking over another few bills, the door. It was like the nights before when Husk escorted Angel, but this time, there wasn’t a vapor of alcohol between the two. Now it was all real and coherent, a thought both wonderful and terrifying. Hell, Husk was impressed with himself that he was _getting it up._ No Tom wanted a fuckin’ whiskey dick with a peach like Angel Dust on his vine.

They found their door not long after. Within, the room had a luxury unfamiliar to even the spider. Angel gawked, taken by his surroundings. “Holy shit.”

He looked back to Husk, who entered and shut the door, awestruck himself. “Jee-zus, Huskalicious. Didn’t know you’ze was packin’ dat kinda’ scratch!”

Husk gave a nervous chuckle, reminded of the shadowy man. Forget about that, not important, only thing that mattered right now was _Angel._

“I manage,” he tossed back.

Angel roped his arms around Husk’s shoulders, administering a small kiss to the feline’s cheek.

A sneer spread across the spider’s features. He had something more devious in mind. “Ya’ knooow. . .”

Licking his lips, Angel shuffled in his purse and yanked out Hellphone, thumbing it to life. “We oughta’ record dis fer such a special occasion. Since we’ze goin’ all steady n’ shit, right?”

Husk blinked. “Wait, what?”

Angel wiggled the phone. “Mmm, c’mon Husky. Maybe a little recordin’ for ya to remember dis special night, eh? Plus, heh, it’d _really_ piss somebody off.”

Husk looked at the phone and the spider. He just wanted to share a bed with Angel, what was all this? “The heck you on about?”

The spider gave a wicked chuckle, strolling past Husk and placing the Hellphone horizontal on a stand. It was set just so to provide a wide camera shot of the duo, or more specifically, the bed they were about to use. Fiddling with it, Angel cleared his throat while setting it to record, turning his attention back to Husk.

Husk wasn’t much a tech guy, but even he recognized the beady red eye of the camera’s recording mode. “Uh.”

Angel waved a hand. “Don’t worry ‘bout it handsome,” he said, sashaying back to the winged demon, pushing his hands to Husk’s hips and the others to shoulders.

“Little memoir, eh?” he said, kissing the feline. Husk thought to protest but, the moment those soft, warm lips went to his, the world vanished. The _Maxa,_ the city, it was gone. Now it was just he and Angel, for _real._

Husk fought back and tasted the spider’s tongue, exploring lithe frame of Angel’s body, palms working over every groove and dive of his frame. He squeezed at Angel’s rear hidden behind his dress, earning him a pleased coo as their mouths continued to smack. Fireworks went off inside Husk’s body, the hot and wild kind, and he felt alive. A strange sensation, though so joyously welcomed.

“Mmf,” purred Angel, his palms racing into Husk’s pants now to resume their previous work, wrapping and working the length over (which was _quite_ hard again). “You likin’ dis, eh Husk? Like havin’ a spider bitch all to y’self?”

Husk gave a long groan. “Yeah, yeah, you’re real fuckin’ clever,” he rasped.

“I’m a lotta’ things now, babe,” Angel snickered. Husk shuddered in his grip, solid as a steel pillar.

“Nnf, fuck hon, ya’ real hard for me, ain’t ya?”

Granted, in Angel’s line of work, such a thing was generally expected. But with Husk? Guess he felt proud with this one. Husk drowned himself in booze and depression, two ingredients that were dick killers. Now? Well shit, was like Husk had seen his first porn, he was _twitching,_ and a dribble of pre escaped him too. Different, now, it was different. If Husk was his. . . boyfriend, like _really_ his boyfriend, then that was half the battle, eh? Makin’ sure you could get your significant hot and bothered?

A wave of heat washed over Angel, now. “Ya’ gonna fuckin’ dick me down, right?” Angel laughed, pulling Husk out of his attire.

“Breed a whole fuckin’ family into me, eh?”

Husk grunted, watching Angel pull him out of his pants as his pink length flopped out, dripping and hard as an oak. Holy shit, even _that_ surprised him. Damn the spider had gotten him horny. Angel’s words did _not_ help. . . or rather they did.

Some primal beast opened its mouth, one Husk didn’t recognize. “I might rent ya’ out, yeah,” he said, a bit surprised he was the one saying it. Once you were over the moon and high on sexual adrenalin, the brain imagined all sorts of shit. The idea of “breeding” Angel, even though that was anatomically impossible? Sure, why the fuck not.

Angel throbbed to life too, and his own erection was readily apparent through dress as his inches nudged against panties. His desire for Husk was escalating well beyond anything he’d felt in a long time. Normally to get like these he needed a line or two of blow or get buzzed so he was “in the moment.” But all this was just. . . raw arousal. Huh. Goddamn, he really liked it.

Husk practically ripped Angel out of his dress, only stopped by a gentle – though forceful warning – from the spider. “Ey, ey, don’t fuckin’ tear dis, cutie, it’s a custom and you’ze ain’t about to ruin it.”

He pat Husk on the cheek. “We ain’t at dat phase in the relationship juuust yet.”

Husk growled. “Nnf. Whatever. Get the fuck on the bed, beautiful.”

Angel brightened, admittedly blushing. “Mm, so’m beautiful now, huh?”

Husk grunted, kissing Angel hard. He narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Now shut up.” he rasped.

The spider offered a surprised, whimpering coo as his counterpart took a more domineering role. He kinda liked it. Made him believe Husk was genuine here, that he’d go to great lengths to preserve what they had. It felt. . . safe. Safe enough it washed away the unpleasant idea of his actual “job.”

Angel found himself in the bed a moment later, and the luxurious sheets embraced his frame. He stripped out of his dress with only black lace panties guarding his backside. His striped cock dribbled and twitched too, as excited as his “client.” Damn. Been a while since he felt this way, on the physical _and_ emotional sense.

Husk pulled out of his suit and straps, unable to shift his eyes away from Angel’s slender body, curve of his rump, and subtle invitation of his hole and inches. This was the first time he’d viewed Angel in such a raw way. The other times were behind a cloak of alcohol and emotional issues. Now that was gone, and it was like some injected pure, raw life into his veins. The good shit.

He’d all but forgotten about the camera as Husk neared Angel’s lithe body, wings flapping in excited fashion. Angel, smirking, wiggled his hips, all fours on the bed while Husk pushed his claws into Angel’s back, feeling the grooves and curves of his body. He rubbed and caressed where he could, “drinking” in the spider’s body, savoring how soft the fluff tickled his palms while his nose took in a heavy drag of the thick, alluring perfume.

All the while, Angel moaned with approval. This had an extra fun touch too. . . the recording. It was for something special, something _insulting._ Oh, he couldn’t wait.

As it turned out, neither could Husk.

His heart drummed like a hammer as the winged demon pushed himself into bed with Angel, right behind him. His blood felt hot as fire, like he might catch ablaze on the spot. Devil below, he was fucking aroused. Sure, there were times a little like this, but, with alcohol it was a more “uncontrolled” experience. For the first time in a long, loooooong time, Husk felt “alive.”

“Unngh, fuckin’, stop keepin’ me waitin’,” pleaded Angel, looking back. “God, I need ya’ t’breed me, Husk, can’t help it!”

Well, that did all sorts of things to Husk’s ego _and_ libido. He obliged, greedily so. He pushed the tip of pulsing erection against Angel’s hole, licking his fingers to nuzzle the pink ring. Angel whimpered as his pucker was teased and massaged, readying it, until Husk’s shivering, red length nuzzled the entrance. At once, both parties gasped, drunk on the stupor of sexual proximity. Once flesh got this close it was like entering a completely new state of existence. A horny one, at least.

Speaking of entering. Husk pressed his cock into Angel’s awaiting, needy tunnel. There was a mutual moan of extreme satisfaction, where Angel gripped the sheets and his frame tensed. He panted, tongue hanging, while the cat buried his inches in spider-hole. Then, Husk leaned, embracing his frame with both arms and wings, growling.

“So ya’ wanna be my bitch?” he hissed, lost to the throes of lust and fuckery. Angel moaned, simpering and nodding.

“Y-yes, yes!”

Kind of amazing what a bit of cock and horniness did to dialogue. Still, it rang true. Husk wanted it, Angel did too. Given that Husk _wanted_ Angel to himself, truly, this only escalated things. He clenched into Angel as though the spider might vanish if he didn’t, beginning a rough rhythm of hard thrusts. Each time sent a spasm of hot, electric pleasure rolling through both bodies, and even Husk felt his inches _throb_ inside Angel’s tight grip.

The coupling drooled with presex and arousal. Hadn’t even hit peak yet and already thin rivers of juice pooled into the sheets as Husk slammed his hips into Angel’s backside. Each slam created a loud series of lewd claps, filling the room, obscuring any noise the _Maxa_ offered. Unf, and Angel wanted this, wanted Husk to fill him to the brim til his eyes watered. Funny, he had planned to moan and whine and gasp like a bitch in heat. You know, play it up a little, play the role of fancy boytoy escort.

But the thing was, he _didn’t_ need to, it felt so good. Felt so right and hot. Right in a way that was so. . . different. Ugh, he wanted Husk, in all ways and every way. Fuck me, Husk, he thought, claim me right now so nobody else can. Fuck me so hard I somehow have a goddamn mutant batch of spider kids! Who fuckin’ cared!

There’d be time, perhaps, in the future for something a little more sensual, slow burn, but not this time. Oh hell no. As quickly as the two paired together, humping and all, they hit a peak in union. Husk’s load burst from his tip, red cock throbbing to life as he drained himself in Angel’s awaiting hole. The spider, too, lost control, his length shivering to life as a burst of hot white issue exploded from his tip. He cried aloud like a bitch in heat, hoping the Hellphone picked it up. He knew it did.

When they rasped and caught their breath, Angel grinned, wiggling his haunches. “Fuck me again.”

Husk smirked. They’d be here a while.

-*-

Valentino crossed his legs as he watched a row of potential dancers line in front of him, touching up their outfits and makeup. Mostly disappointments, as usual, but they’d do. Useful meat. Either they’d be good floor pieces or he’d just turn em’ out on the street if they didn’t make much on the pole.

Adjusting his glasses, Val grumbled when his Hellphone vibrated. He yanked it from his luxurious pimp coat, frowning. He recognized the sender: fluffy_bootz

“Finally,” he grunted. “Bitch is _late.”_

He expected a text from the spider he owned, Angel Dust. Well. . .

Instead, it was a message, but with an attachment. A video?

“The fuck?”

There was indeed a video, along with a short heading: BEST FUCK OF MY NIGHT, SO GOOD <3 <3 <3

Val felt his stomach churn, his heart go icy. He thumbed the video open, only to see one cat he didn’t recognize banging his spider into oblivion, sound and all. Those moans, those sounds. . . they were. . . heavenly. So much that, Val realized, Angel had _never_ sounded this way with him, ever.

His free hand clenched. Every second he watched made him more and more furious, as if Angel was being taken from him. Why didn’t Angel sound this way with him!?

He clenched his Hellphone so hard he near broke it, stuffing it back into his pocket. He left the studio, no longer with an “appetite” for new dancers. Wasn’t usual that Val ever had a sense of defeat, but this. . .

He needed a drink.


End file.
